


In Vogue

by otpwhatever



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ass Play, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Boss! Harry, Boss! Louis, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Fashion & Couture, Florence + the Machine References, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, It's marked in the chapter at which it is, Kissing, M/M, Mirror Sex, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Harry, Top Louis, Wall Sex, Window Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 121,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otpwhatever/pseuds/otpwhatever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Is that why David Beckham has been featured multiple times on the pages of your life's work? Does your criteria seriously consist of one thing – a man's ass?'<br/>'Well the ass is a man's best asset,' Harry smirks, holding the Martini glass high up his face. 'And don't call the magazine my life's work. There are far more important things in life, Louis Tomlinson, than what's printed on the pages of a magazine.'</p><p>Fashion AU. Louis is the editor in chief of Vogue magazine, and Harry's running British GQ. Featuring Zayn as the crazy creative director and Louis' confidant, Liam as the sports writer that gets to sit front row at fashion week and DJ Neil as the only sane person in the whole story. (There are no skinny jeans in this fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: I'M HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE THAT IN VOGUE WILL BE PUBLISHED BY INK & SMITH PUBLISHING IN SEPTEMBER 2016. FOR MORE INFORMATION, [VISIT THE WEBSITE](http://www.inkandsmith.com/invogue). (The story won't be taken down, but the published version will have new, yet unpublished scenes)
> 
> The fashion world has been portrayed so it mirrors real life, but I do not claim to know everything. What I know comes from research, classes, stories and experiences I've been told or read about. You can follow the fic by searching places, schedules of fashion weeks, the offices of Vogue etc. Basically, I wanted to imagine Louis and Harry in the world of fashion as it is and their roles in the industry and the way they are dressed is how I picture them if they were to wake up one day as editors.
> 
> Since this is a fashion fic, I've provided you with visuals for the looks they wear. They are optional, but work well so you can imagine their looks as they go. If the look isn't described the same as the visual that goes with it, it's because it was just an inspiration. If there are no links, it comes straight from my head.
> 
> Thank you to [Esther](http://anchoredlou.tumblr.com/) and [Helenah](http://helenahjay.tumblr.com/) for being the best betas anyone could ever ask for. Seriously. Thank you. [Robs](http://www.sloumate.tumblr.com/) for loving this fic almost as much as I do even when it's the first draft and awful. Thank you for encouraging me to do this, if your initial reaction wasn't as fangirly, who knows if this would ever be more than a chapter. Also, thank you [Gabi](http://www.louibi.tumblr.com/) for saying stuff that made me believe in this a bit more and being generally thoughtful and loving. [Michelle](http://www.dont-knock-it-till-you-try-it.tumblr.com/) thank you for finding tiny pieces of me in Louis and mocking me endlessly for it. I can't believe how beautiful you all are.
> 
> Sountrack: Florence + The Machine: How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful

[ ](http://www.style.com/slideshows/fashion-shows/spring-2009-couture/christian-dior/collection/32)

 

The first time he sees Harry Styles is at the gala the British Fashion Council throws together annually.

Louis is jet lagged and he would rather burrow his head in among the fluffy pillows in his hotel room, the way ostriches bury their heads in the sand.

He’s not feeling it. He catches his reflection in one of the full-length mirrors framing the huge space of the Roundhouse. The white lights make his cheekbones look even sharper and his eyelashes cast long lines across the silky skin beneath his eyes.

Even though he looks somewhat tired, his lips lacking their usual crispy peach color, the electric blue of his Hermes suit still makes him stand out in the crowd.

_(Louis' look:[suit](http://media.style.com/image/fashion-shows/fall-2015-menswear/paris/hermes/collection/1366/2048/HER_0821.jpg))  
_

Being stuck on a plane for a crazy number of hours doesn’t justify slacking off in the fashion game. Plus, Louis Tomlinson isn’t one to turn down the chance to look dashing.

His eyes dart towards the man who, even though they have never met, he’s seen quite a lot of. Heard about, too.  He’s dressed in this season’s resort Saint Laurent. The dress code was strict black tie, but the man seems to have bent the rules extensively. And, one might add, in his favour, the way the skinny trousers cling to his long legs. They run a tad too short, with the hem undone. The same kind as shown on the runway a few weeks ago. After a few too many Mississippis, Louis’ inspecting eyes dart towards the shoes. If he's paired those pants with black boots, Louis can cross him off right this second, no matter how silky his hair looks. Or how beautiful the melody of his laughter carrying through the room, even with the music filling the space.

Hello, Earth to Louis.

He’s wearing a clash of monk straps and creepers. Relief floods through Louis’ body, spreading all over to the tips of his toes. In that moment, the man he's been staring at for a full minute now turns around swiftly and makes a beeline for the bar.

Daring is the only word that comes to Louis’ mind once he realizes Harry decided to throw the gold blazer that closed the show into the equation. Somehow, even though he must be illiterate since creepers and gold fit into black tie as much as polyblend does in the Vogue offices, he still exudes the word breathtaking. This man actually existing in the same room as him makes Louis forget the bar is where he’s been situated since he made obligatory rounds of ‘hello’s’ two hours ago.

_(Harry's look:[trousers ](http://media.style.com/image/fashion-shows/spring-2016-menswear/paris/saint-laurent/collection/1366/2048/_A2X1130.jpg)/ [blazer](http://40.media.tumblr.com/45c69a3379a42d527803e569c75748a7/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo4_250.jpg))_

Clarity comes in the form of the gold blazer spilling half of his drink down his suit.

‘Oooooops.’

The man has no flaws. His eyebrows are trimmed and plucked, his facial hair is non existent and the curls bouncing on the top of his head look inviting. Somehow they look like a halo. If he had to choose a Disney character to fit him, Harry Styles would be an overgrown Tinkerbell. The man fucking sparkles.

‘Hi.’

‘It’s a good thing I didn’t order anything colored. I was thinking maybe I should try the passionfruit eclipse, but went for a mojito. So I’m sure I won’t even need to pay for your dry cleaning.’ He continues to babble like he's completely forgetting the fact they still haven’t properly introduced themselves.

Louis opts for an eyebrow raise. He is not yet sure if his brain is capable of forming words. If Vogue started featuring more male models, maybe he wouldn’t be looking like a lost donkey right now. This way he has no immunity to good looks.

‘I’m Harry. Harry Styles.’

His hands are enormous with long slender fingers and half of Cartier resting between the second and third knuckle of each.

‘Louis Tomlinson.’

At least he can still speak. Anna would kill him if he fucked this up in front of anyone other than an A-list celebrity. Even an A-lister is no excuse, Tomlinson. God, get a grip.

‘The greatest man in fashion! The Lion King of New York City!’ Harry’s eyes draw up slightly as his whole face warms with delight. He looks positively taken aback.

‘Indeed. And you are? From the looks of it, I’d say you are Hedi Slimane’s lover, but I know the man himself and he’s been taken for a few years now. Quite a shame, I might add.’

Harry lights up like a Christmas tree in the Rockefeller Center at midnight, his eyes drawn up to slits while he throws his head back and lets out a loud symphony of cackles.

‘You are funny. A funny editor-in-chief,’ he exclaims after the laugh has faded to a tiny quirk on his lips. He doesn’t seem to be ashamed to admire Louis openly, which is both rare and foolish.

‘And no, although he is fit. I am running GQ here in the UK. Small leagues for you, big dog.’

‘Hmmm.’ Louis opts for a non-committal answer. He’s still not sure if half eloquent conversations can really give him a hard on, but his brain feels like he’s stuck in a Drake song on a loop.

‘Not good enough for the mister hotshot right here, huh?’

Ohhh, so Harry is feisty. Maybe he is more of a Rihanna than a Drake.

‘Never said that.’ When life gives you lemons, Tomlinson, better shut your mouth. A 101 tutorial on how to get the man backing off by Louis Tomlinson. Get it free on iTunes.

’Sorry. You must meet so many people all the time, I’m sure it’s exhausting.’ Somehow his whole face falls in a matter of seconds. He still looks as beautiful as it gets.

Fuck. Louis better get a grip on things. He can’t let this gorgeous man leave thinking he’s the most stuck up prude to ever step on the sidewalks of the Upper East Side.

‘I am not going to lie, it can be. But it’s not every day I get to meet the man who once a month produces a guide to getting those toned muscles for summer. One would think you guys would’ve run out of ideas by now.’ Ha, get in, Tommo. They don’t call you a hotshot for no reason.

Harry’s laugh is small, almost timid. But it’s there, making Louis’ blood coil with everything from lust to fear and arousal.

‘You do know GQ is actually a men’s fashion and style magazine. You must have us confused with Sports Illustrated.’ He beams, clearly proud. Louis wants to tear down that stupid gold blazer off his strong shoulders and fuck him into oblivion.

Instead, he opts for smirking into his glass. He’s not sure whether his flirting act is working or whether it looks plain ridiculous. Liquid courage is a curse and a blessing.

Harry, however, seems to be on board. The smile lingers on his face, his eyes painted in gold, the way the light hits his blazer making him look better by the second. ‘I sat first row in Milan two weeks ago. Afterwards I reported on it in the magazine. Looks like a fashion job to me.’

‘Boy band members sit first row at men’s fashion week. If you’re trying to impress me, it’s not working.’ 10 points for Tomlinson.

‘Boy band members are hot.’ Harry proceeds to take advantage of the bar by placing his whole weight on it, shoulders slightly turned backwards, back arched so he can lean on the marble-looking surface covering the length of the countertop, clearly comfortable in whatever this conversation is.

Who even is this guy. Tinkerbell on steroids.

‘And I don’t see why our magazine wouldn’t help all the men out there get the body they want. Who can say no to a nice ass.’

The motherfucker winks. Louis wants to sink down on the floor and make him do CPR just so he can get some oxygen into his lungs. He hasn’t flirted like this in the last ten years.

'Is that why David Beckham has been featured multiple times on the pages of your life's work? Does your criteria seriously consist of one thing – a man's ass?'

'Well the ass is a man's best asset,' Harry smirks, holding the Martini glass high up his face. 'And don't call the magazine my life's work. There are far more important things in life, Louis Tomlinson, than what's printed on the pages of a magazine.'

'And what might those be?' he presses, although he knows whatever Harry may come up with will never be enough. He’s already feeling the arousal slightly leaving his body, even though Harry is looking at him the way he hasn’t been looked at by anyone in a long time.

Pages of a magazine. And this man called himself an editor. No wonder Louis skipped London for fashion week. It will never be deemed worthy enough if people like Harry continue to be its power figures.

'Love,' shoots Harry, his eyes big and sincere. Green. Staring directly at him, as if Louis' whole life story was written behind his eyelids.

'Ah, the classic answer.' After letting out an audible sigh, Louis slightly bows his head, signalling the end of the conversation, an act he mastered many years ago. He feels like someone poured ice water over his head. He should have realized Harry would be the kind of person who looks for someone who will reach for the stars for him.

‘If you’ll excuse me, I see my friend waiting for me. Thank you for the interesting conversation, Harry.’ His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks at the young man before him.

Confusion is crystal clear on Harry’s face.

Louis turns on his heel and makes his way towards the bar where Zayn is standing. Louis' mind is racing, droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. The blue lines of his suit form a beautiful contrast to the ivory color of the floor as he strolls elegantly across the enormous hall, avoiding the tables filled with people interested to hear him speak. It’s not that he’s feeling bad; only too much. His brain is in overdrive once again, and the alcohol he consumed not making it any easier for him to physically process it all.

Love was Galliano's spring couture collection for Dior in 2009, which Louis oversaw Zayn shooting with Patrick Demarchelier in the gardens of Versailles.

Love was the thousands of hours of work that went into producing a one-of-a-kind bustier beaded with ivory pearls and a full skirt evoking the classical romantic femininity of Dior's silhouette. Louis still remembers the words Galliano said to him after he has shown the collection.

‘It's our job to make people dream.’

And to fall in love, Louis always added to the quote, whenever he recalled that moment. Hopelessly, foolishly in love.

Dream makers don’t get to experience dreams. Artists don’t get to see happiness. Regularity isn’t optional. The list goes on in Louis’ head, always ending with the same conclusion. Some get to choose love, some get to choose their dreams. Only the lucky few get to have both. Louis isn’t one of them.

\----

Rain is pouring tirelessly, clouds overcasting the city. The sky is painted in various shades of grey; the mood, for many, miserable. Soaked clothes, Starbucks coffees that turn cold way too soon, and the rush seemingly speeding faster than usual.

Louis Tomlinson spots a shade of lilac in between the clouds that are currently storming over two impossibly high skyscrapers. The town car stops at a red light and he takes the opportunity to snatch a photo for Instagram.

Florence + The Machine is blasting through the speakers, and he’s enjoying humming along to the song he knows too well when his phone starts to ring 

‘Louis, the polaroids from Paris are here. Also, I picked up your suit for tonight’s gala. I am calling to see if you’d like to have your breakfast or coffee waiting for you when you get here,’ chirps the woman at the other end of the line.

‘Eggs. Benedict. Also, push the run through for noon. Editorial meeting straight afterwards.’

‘Okay Louis.’

Ending the call without a word, he goes back to skygazing and people-watching. He still has two solid minutes before the driver is due to pull up in front of the World Trade Center building.

As soon as the car comes to a halt, Louis makes quick work of grabbing the Burberry umbrella sitting next to him. His movements swift but silent, he picks up the customized Gucci bag he received just yesterday, matte black with LT engraved in between where handles meet the boxy exterior. His Coach shoes are black. Not matte, but not shiny either. And so is the Givenchy leather jacket covering his shoulders like second skin. He opted for Burberry pants with embroidered flowers in various shades of beige that cling to his ass so perfectly it seems they were designed for the sole purpose of Louis strolling powerfully around New York City in them.

_(Louis' look:[jacket](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d426c6c73df699747af93920ec982084/tumblr_inline_ns9uq86daC1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

It’s only Louis who knows he's going starkers underneath, the only sign of it when his erect nipples formed two perfect spots on his otherwise immaculate Isabel Marant t-shirt as he moved too abruptly when zipping them up this morning.

When Anna Wintour decided Vogue was moving buildings, Louis was the one who got to make executive decisions when it came to overseeing the interior design of the new space in One World Trade Center.

‘It’s yours to run, after all.’

She left him in charge. When the ice lady, a woman he looked up to and admired with fear clogging his veins for many years, asked him to meet her for dinner three years ago, her announcing she was planning on retiring was the last thing Louis was expecting.

‘I am absolutely positive about what I am to ask of you. I have been following your work for years now, Louis. You are tough, capable, and see the future clearly. You feel the pulse of this city, and therefore the world. Not many can do that.  I need someone to take my place at Vogue by the end of this year. I am recommending it be you.’

Louis choked on his steak. And for the first time since he met her, Anna laughed.

It remains Louis’ favourite memory.

Three years and a little less than 20 issues under his helm, two Met Galas and countless luncheons later, the magazine is thriving.

The public has yet to yell ‘It’s a king!’, but the advertisers are buying up space relentlessly. Profits skyrocketed after last September, and Vogue’s digital media is leading the way to a new era, just like it’s supposed to be doing, once again.

Strolling up to the entrance of the World Trade Center is one of Louis’ favourite things. It feels like home, boosting his ego every time he looks up and realizes that he’s running the entire operation. Screw countless millionaires and their posh homes, he is the one people go to in order to hear what to choose and what to look for. A dictator of taste, he was the only one capable of getting Beyoncé to switch Rousteing for Cavalli.

He has the Dolce and Gabbana crown Zayn nicked off a shoot to prove his point sitting prominently on the white windowsill overlooking the city in his office.

The doors open for him silently, guards knowing better than to ask him for the ID card everyone else diligently runs around with.

Coach did a poor job with the shoes, sole feeling too hard at the heel and leather running to stiff. He’ll have to start keeping his Nike Roshe Runs in the office closet or the car. Thank god the idea to declare sportswear cool again came to him during his early days at the helm of Vogue.

Kanye West still can’t thank him enough.

The lift doors open on the 25th floor, white hitting him hard. The floors are a beaming white marble with faint black swirls, boosting elegance to all 6000 square feet of the space: decorated sparse, bursting with intimidation. To his left are the advertising offices and Louis turns sharp right at the reception desk made of clear white wood. Apple computers are the only accessory visible from where 2000 dollar shoes exit the lift. Glass doors upon glass doors, editors, interns and assistants make themselves invisible while he puts one foot in front of the other, chin held high, the morning light coming from his office stroking his face lightly.

If Louis had to describe his office in one word, it would be posh. Even though he's the editor-in-chief of the world’s most prominent magazine, he still has to pinch himself occasionally whenever he sees bunches of fresh peonies perched on his windowsills. Books cover most of the right wall, making it look less official and more like a library, with the left corner of the room littered with photo upon photo of the history of the only thing Louis knows well. There is Anna Wintour dancing in a silk pink dress with Oscar De La Renta in ‘95, an Irving Penn black and white classic, 1948 Cecil Beaton, Annie Liebovitz’s etheral visions styled by Grace Coddington, David Bailey’s portrait of Chaterine Deneuve contrasting Bruce Weber’s Kate Moss. The wall serves as an inspiration as much as a reminder of how many icons have walked the halls of Vogue offices. How much is at stake.

He strides across the small patch of the floor that isn’t covered with a plush seashell carpet Armani sent to Louis as an office warming gift. Placing the Gucci beauty on his desk next to The New York Times and Vanity Fair, he picks up his first Starbucks of the day and takes a sip.

Louis takes off the Givenchy, hanging it up on the platinum clothing rack Ralph got him after stating how white Louis’ office looked. He also hooked him up with a free stay at his hotel in Miami. Louis would have been be a fool to say no to either.

Polaroids are sitting neatly laid out on the right side of his desk. Just as he glances over the first row, eyes squinting in concentration upon seeing the Herrera pantsuit looking way too stiff on one of the girls. As if on queue, Zayn walks in.

‘You do understand it’s not really your job to look over the polaroids. The same polaroids that should have been delivered to my office. So I can look at them. The last time I checked, I was the creative director.’

‘And when was I one to delegate? Besides, these are rubbish. I’m not sure how long I can let Testino do the shit he’s been doing, Zayn. Where were you for this? Why am I seeing half of Dior’s ballgown on this one?’ Louis looks up to see his best friend staring at him, brows furrowed. He has managed to pick up three polaroids while Louis was talking.

Zayn sighs, shoulders tensing up, his stare even harder to read. He does this whenever Louis acts the powerful executive around him.

Louis lets out an audible sigh, his face softening.

‘I know. You did wonderfully. The Balenciaga works well with the tulip skirt. But we can’t use this, you know it. Out of focus, clearly rushed,’ Louis lets his bum touch the vanilla plush chair and picks up his Starbucks as if it’s going to save him from having to spend another fifty grand on making this right. ‘I don’t see what else we can do with this besides reshooting. I want a cover from this. You know I want Kendall in the green Calvin see-through dress to run this.’

And there goes Louis’ cherished seven issue streak without redoing any of the editorials, his longest run yet.

‘I want Sims.’

So Zayn is feeling feisty today. He squints at Louis, clearly again ditching his glasses for the ‘sharper look’, as he likes to call it.

‘No, it would never work. I’ll call Annie. And I know you wanted her in the first place, anyway.’

Zayn refrains from jumping in the air, but that doesn’t stop him from placing a sloppy kiss to Louis cheek.

‘Mmmm, you smell nice,’ he lets out while his nose lingers next to Louis’ earlobe, the warm presence of Zayn’s slim body making Louis let his guard down. ‘If I do good, will you reward me?’

Louis all but smirks, tracing simple straight lines along Zayn’s toned arms. ‘Sure. Get me a cover and you will have me any way you want.’

So Zayn delivers.

Five days later, Louis falls asleep in Zayn’s bed, but it’s not the raven-haired boy making his thoughts jump through hoops around his brain. He feels dizzy from the sex and empty from the lack of feeling something more, thinking of the curly haired boy from London who talks about love like it’s the most natural thing in the world, while the only thing Louis has ever known is art and lust and rush.

\------

‘Those are definitely not the editorial HQs. And you are definitely not working. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working in this office.’

Zayn should stop strolling into Louis' office like he runs the place.

Today he’s looking splendid, deciding on raiding the closet once again. Louis identifies the blazer as this season’s Lanvin. His best friend insists on stealing half of the women’s garments from the (apart from the two of them) completely women-run offices of Vogue. As if the girls didn’t already have enough competition when battling for the burgundy wool crepe shorts as soon as they are discarded after the issue’s editorial shoot.

Louis looks at Zayn the way he would look at a collection he doesn't think is worthy ever seeing the light of day. Zayn, however, is neither amused nor scared.

‘Is that GQ? Are you converting?’ Zayn lifts up one of the magazines from the pile that Louis has wanted to throw out but been unable to do so for days now. His facial expression is a mixture of disgust and mockery.

‘Oh, wait. Wait wait wait. No, this can’t be. Did you get your hands on this,’ Zayn points his finger to each GQ issue individually, ‘because of that chocolate-curled heaven that soaked you through and through and you still haven’t ruined his career and made him move to Singapore?’

Louis decides a blank stare is the only risk he’s willing to take with this.

‘Oh my god.’ Zayn half squeaks, half barks and continues to let out some more high-pitched sounds. Louis’ mind immediately thinks of a chihuahua.

‘This is the best day of my life.’ He looks so happy he might sneeze and accidentally pull the trigger of the non-existent gun he is holding at Louis’ head. ‘I have,’ the creative genius proceeds to dig his iPhone from his pocket, ‘a song for this.’

'Best day of my life' by American Authors starts playing.

Zayn slumps into the baby powder French Heritage sofa-turned-chair in front of Louis' main desk.

‘You’re fired.’

Louis isn’t even joking with this one. He can see half of the Vogue floor currently gossiping about what’s got Zayn in hysterics.

‘Embrace it, chief.’ Zayn is clearly gambling with his luck today, finishing the thought with a wink and a smile.

Louis is as lost as it gets, not sure whether to speak up or keep his mouth shut. He opts for the latter, reminding himself of the many times Anna chose not to speak in order to convey the message even more clearly.

Zayn is not afraid of him though. And Louis is not Anna Wintour. So he, as many times before, when they were at college and foolish, or interning and slightly less foolish but slightly more drunk, let his mouth run wild.

‘You know I don’t do love, director. There’s only so much you can have without someone asking for something in return. And this one doesn’t look like he does things halfway. He probably buys flowers for his one night stands. Fairy godmother looking like a fucking model.’

Zayn’s nonplussed face says it all.

‘You do know he entered the industry modeling? He was actually a billboard model at seventeen.’

‘Well isn't that convenient. Harry Styles is one weird human.’ Louis hums.

‘You do talk some shit when you like someone.’

And even though Zayn’s cheekbones look surgically sharp and his eyes slightly glassy from the laughter, which overall paints a quite attractive picture, it still earns him a scolding look.

The world is better off without Louis liking someone. As is Louis.

He lets himself cast one last longing glance at the image of Harry currently gracing the screen of his Mac, framed animatedly talking to Alexa Chung and looking even hotter than Louis remembers him. To get that into his bed. Harry Styles is what orgasms are made of.

After fighting Zayn on removing two weak shots from the editorial, leaving them with a 12-page spread for the main piece, and sending yet another mock up of the cover for retouching, Louis feels drained. Work for the September issue is wearing him out, taking up every minute of his day. He wakes up in the morning only to immediately start mulling over whether he should kill the Napa piece, eats his salmon for lunch while looking at two almost identical airbrushed versions of Kendall Jenner’s face, and sits at home with a glass of wine in the evening reading the piece on a female spy that infiltrated ISIS.

He’s not sure if it’s the nerves kicking in or just the regular adrenaline rush he normally feels whenever he lets out a piece of him to be judged by the world, but he feels like he’s walking on clouds while heavy weights are pressing his feet lower with each step.

The issue isn’t their biggest yet. He’s not sure he would ever feel comfortable tackling Anna’s 900-page monstrosity from 2012, but the advertisers bought the space out in record time and Louis decided to give high street moguls the chance to pump their budget. In the end, Zara’s elegant black ad is spread on six pages right after the letter from the editor segment, and a hefty amount has been sitting in Vogue’s account ever since they’ve signed the contract.

He goes on to tackle the issue in the accessorize department, his last task before finally shutting the lights of his office long after 10pm. He’s flying for Paris tomorrow.

\--------------

_Paris Couture Week schedule, July 2015_

_5 July_

_19.30 -[Atelier Versace](http://www.vogue.it/sfilate/sfilata/alta-moda-autunno-inverno-2015-16/atelier-versace)_

_6 July_

_14.30 -[Christian Dior](http://www.vogue.it/en/shows/show/haute-couture-fall-winter-2015-16/christian-dior)_

_19.30 -[Giambattista Valli](http://www.vogue.it/en/shows/show/haute-couture-fall-winter-2015-16/giambattista-valli)_

_7 July_

_10.00 -[Chanel](http://www.vogue.it/en/shows/show/haute-couture-fall-winter-2015-16/chanel)_

_14.30 - Stéphane Rolland_

_18.00 -[Giorgio Armani Privé](http://www.vogue.it/en/shows/show/haute-couture-fall-winter-2015-16/giorgio-armani-prive)_

_19.30 -[Alexandre Vauthier](http://www.vogue.it/en/shows/show/haute-couture-fall-winter-2015-16/alexandre-vauthier)_

_8 July_

_10.00 - Maison Margiela_

_12.30 - Elie Saab_

_14.30 - Jean Paul Gaultier_

_16.00 - Viktor &Rolf_

_17.30 - Alexis Mabille_  

Louis is late for the first couture show. Versace should have started 10 minutes ago, but Louis’ plane was delayed and now Sabine, his assistant and Mauricio, his make up artist, are trying to make Louis look presentable in the back of the town car which is, of course, stuck in the Paris traffic. A rushed call from Sabine has left 200 people waiting for Louis in a 30-metre long glass case housing, and makes Louis want to ditch the whole thing all together. He feels as if the men’s fashion week was over only yesterday, and now it’s go go go again, for another week.

Fashion truly never stops.

It’s blazing hot and even Louis’ eyelids are on fire in the car while he’s trying to make his ass squeeze into jacquard Haider Ackermann wide-legged pants, one hand firmly placed on Sabine’s shoulder and the other groping the rooftop of the car, his whole body in a semi-horizontal state.

He is going floral today, Givenchy botanical blossom print sandals on his feet. The black sweater Sabine has brought from the McQueen headquarters this morning smelling of cut grass and sitting fresh on his Eau De Blue. Gucci leather pouch, check. Margiela aviators, check.

_(Louis' look:[sandals ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/27addc1c3a92096f7c8ca00b06a78cd1/tumblr_inline_ns9uzhGHSQ1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/af382ee026a288494c8805d18f72a943/tumblr_inline_ns9v2pag0J1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [bag](https://40.media.tumblr.com/47b3763a23420daaa377a8fdf8d783ea/tumblr_inline_ns9v4kJR6V1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

The first thing he sees when he walks into the building is Harry motherfucking Styles. Well, the first thing he really sees is a giant Medusa head at the end of the runway, flowers creeping up the wall on both sides. As if mythical creatures aren’t good enough for him, his gaze goes straight to the cherub decked out in what Louis assumes is a full-on Versace outfit. Black blazer with red applique and black leather boots with a gold medusa detail around the ankle strap. If there’s anyone who would believe in wearing Versace to a Versace show, Louis’ bet would be Harry Styles. Maybe he should try playing roulette soon.

He makes quick work of getting to his seat, front row middle, Zayn waiting for him, smirk evident from miles away. As soon as Louis settles in, the show begins, the models a vision of medieval femininity. Louis is, to put it mildly, surprised with the abundance of uncomplicated sexiness Donatella is famous for. Somewhere around the middle, his mind goes to Game Of Thrones.

Shortly after, he completely abandons any pretense of actually keeping up with the extravaganza, pastel colors blending into a blur while his focus lands on the figure sitting front row across from him, far left, by the beginning of the runway.

Harry can only be described as enamoured, snapping photo after photo with his phone, smile bouncing on his lips. Louis’ stare gets fixated on his posture, the way he’s leaning slightly forward like he can’t help himself, like he wants to feel the fabric as it’s coming to life on the runway. The way Harry sees the collection makes Louis see it both more clearly and extremely foggy, all messed up at the same time. It’s all Harry Harry Harry, curls bouncing and hot long legs making scrambled eggs out of Louis’ head and he’s so taken aback by it he only swings back to reality once everyone starts clapping and the finale’s on. Harry’s clapping too, his stare going over Louis sitting with his back in a straight line, left foot tangled around the right ankle, sunglasses blocking anyone from seeing how gone for this manboy he already is.

Harry smiles at him like he knows Louis’ been staring although there is no way in hell he could, and then Zayn is grasping his hand to signal they should leave right now unless they want to get stuck in the rush of people heading backstage or outside and face all the paparazzi and bloggers patiently waiting for them to exit the venue.

The thing is, Louis doesn’t want to leave.

Standing up, he places his palms on his thighs, making the silk run in a straight line against his legs again. ‘I’m gonna go do the rounds today,’ he finally looks at Zayn. ‘You coming with?’

Zayn isn’t used to Louis being open to making customary backstage chit chat after shows. Even though it’s part of the protocol, Louis mostly flees the scene, making the magazine his priority, leaving the socializing to his editors. Many took a chance to, at some point or another, point out that all of it is a part of the world they run. But Zayn knew, and Louis knew too, that if they played it well from the beginning, everyone would sign it off as a part of their aesthetic. And now, after many shows under their belts, they almost never go back. Too young, too hip or too cool.

So when Louis heads backstage, catching a flop of chocolate curls already turning the corner next to the giant medusa head, Zayn follows suit knowing he is about to be involved in something good.

Donatella looks ecstatic when she sees him, clearly aware of how brilliant of a move the collection was.

He notices Harry standing not so far from the center of the room, chatting quietly with a skinny guy dressed casually in a light denim shirt and the same kind of Nike shoes Louis’ been wearing around the office late at night, except they are neon yellow.

Blondie is obviously not a part of the standard fashion clique and somehow Louis immediately pictures Harry being able to enjoy the company of gangs of different people. Musicians and hipsters; art collectors and realtors.

A sudden wave of sadness washes over him, wiping away some of the excitement he'd been carrying around since the moment he laid his eyes on Harry, as he contemplates briefly about how impossible the whole concept of ever finding himself happily wasting days with Harry in his arms is.

Harry is clearly a star; a shining star. From what Louis has gathered after utilizing every possible form of social media stalking he could come up with. Harry is younger than him, now 26, and recently landed himself the chief position at British GQ. His circle of friends is ever-growing, although he seems to spend the most of his time with a group of British socialites who post weird cryptic photos on Instagram and wouldn't miss Glastonbury for anything.

Louis mind is bouncing back and forth, making him work extra hard on maintaining his cool and collected exterior. He extends his arm to congratulate Donatella, all while keeping his stare on the duo to his right. The blonde guy turns around, subtlety not his forté, and after a quick glance at Louis’ face, turns back to Harry. Harry's cheeks flare up.

‘So this is an actual thing that’s happening,’ whispers Zayn, Donatella’s attention now on Franca Sozzani, Louis’ colleague from Milan, the two chatting animatedly in Italian. ‘He wants you to ride him into the sunset. Look, he is staring at you again, Lou.’

‘We should go.’

Zayn just grabs his ass for support and follows him to the exit.

\--------

‘A challenge. Harry’s got himself a challenge.’ Niall exclaims. He’s been exceeding everyone’s expectations of how prancy he can be while in Paris.

Liam, the third to their trio fantastico, bursts out laughing, making Harry abandon the macarons he’s been munching in favour of staring angrily at the two sitting at his feet. If looks could kill, Harry would still be a puppy in human form.

The three are the epitome of lazy, currently sitting on the steps at Trocadero, looking like typical tourists. Except one of them’s too posh, one too famous and one too buff. Harry has ditched his Versace look from earlier for a Lost and Found white shirt with the hem running almost to his knees and Rick Owens black asymmetric shorts peeking out from underneath. His Birkenstock-clad feet are gently nudging Niall’s hipbones while the DJ snaps selfie after selfie of the three of them, Liam lurking in the background, clearly accustomed to the whole concept.

_(Harry's look:[ shirt /](http://41.media.tumblr.com/a8039712ab92bc8f9525fef0c46c8a8a/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo1_500.jpg) [shorts](http://41.media.tumblr.com/ac3f37ffed4ce88a74d8c80e6e0033a4/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo3_250.jpg))_

‘Well, he scored GQ. I’m sure he’ll be equally successful with Voguezilla.’ Liam is definitely having too much fun mocking Harry’s misery.

‘'snot about scoring,’ Harry murmurs, lazily dragging his index finger across the screen of his phone.

‘What was that?’ Niall turns around so his Marc Jacobs glasses face Harry’s crotch. Why is Niall even wearing the latest women’s MJs?

‘It is not about scoring. It’s not a game.’

‘Oh, I remember it being a game one too many times,’ Niall’s victorious grin earns him a chuckle from Liam and an uncomfortable body shift from Harry.

Paris’ ever-moving flow of tourists is mingling and loud around them.

‘He’s different. And it’s not like that. He doesn’t even follow me on Instagram.’ Harry’s pout would be considered cute, but Liam can read in his eyes how sincere he is so he, for once, stops the mocking.

‘So what if he doesn’t? Make him. Let him know what you have to offer. Let him see you,’ Liam pats Harry’s knees soothingly. ‘You came to Paris for this, Styles. You dragged me to Paris for this. I still don’t understand how you justified bringing your sports writer to couture week,’ Liam grins, clearly not opposed to the whole concept. If Liam Payne was grateful for anything in this world, it would be the abundance of gorgeous women, parties and heavy food.

‘I feel like this is over and it hasn’t even started.’ Looking at all the colorful outfits passing by them, Harry’s eyes seem defeated. It is weird for Liam to see his best friend not smiling, especially across the Channel, where love truly is all around. ‘He’s Vogue. He’s the best there is. How do you make that want you?’

‘Have you seen yourself lately?’ Liam’s face reads bewilderment. He doesn’t have to deal with a doubting Harry almost ever so he turns his upper body to face Niall, the contraction in his muscles visible from how low the slits of the shirt he’s wearing are running.

Niall takes over.

‘I clearly remember bringing you a framed version of that Daily Mail where they called you ‘sex on legs’ and ‘every human’s dream’ in the same article.’ Niall’s smile is wild, unstopping.

To make a point, the blonde stands up rather abruptly, making Harry’s Calvin Klein matte black backpack tumble down the stairs. He proceeds to lock his fingers in Harry’s hair, yanking his head back.

‘That’s some quality hair right there.’ After pinching his cheek and letting his fingers run gently across Harry’s lips, he lifts Harry’s shirt to display it to the world. ‘Aye, mate, who wouldn’t want ya?’

Turning around towards a stream of girls climbing up the stars, he yells like they’re separated by miles rather than steps. ‘You’d do him girls, right? Have his babies?’

By that point, Liam is clutching his stomach with his hands, out of breath from silently laughing and Harry is trying to look anywhere but girls’ faces. Niall’s still proudly holding Harry’s shirt in the air with one hand and throwing the other wildly in the air in uncoordinated motions.

‘Of course!’ yells one of the girls, making the whole bunch break into fits of giggles. They all nod, though, as an afterthought.

‘I am so sorry for this,’ yelps Harry, while pushing his shirt down, trying to get Niall to sit down and stop interacting with every moving thing in their vicinity.

The girls leave shortly after, but not before one of them slips her number into Liam’s hand, clearly not being able to let herself waste the opportunity. Smart girl.

‘You know what, we need food and a game plan. We are not gonna waste this week, you hear me, Styles?’ Niall is not letting this thing go. Harry loves him.

‘Yeah, can’t leave you hanging. We get to see all these gorgeous girls days after day on the runway and at the after parties, all thanks to you. The least we can do is embarrass you completely in trying to make Voguezilla notice you,’ Liam adds.

Harry can’t stop thinking about how much of a bad idea this is, even when they’re strolling through streets of Paris again, making their way towards Harry’s favourite restaurant. L’Aubergeade is pricey and hyped, but on the other hand Harry’s a foodie and Conde Nast is paying.

He only stops toying with the idea of how to win over Louis when he’s visibly tipsy on French wine and eating his third pastry for desert, his belly full and his heart loud and pumping wildly with how much he sometimes loves his life and his friends. Maybe he is not meant to be in love with Louis Tomlinson on top of all of that, but he sure isn’t gonna admit that to himself. He just needs a game plan. So he lets despair be taken over by determination and lets his friends make plans, for once putting an end to worrying about how idiotic those might turn up.

‘First things first, you are going to stop posting idiotic things on Instagram,’ starts Liam, once they’re all settled in their Ritz apartment.

‘Yeah, no more ‘Fizzle mizzle’ captions.’

‘Or artistic steak shots.’

'Or traffic signs.’

‘Donuts.’

‘Knees.’

‘Bacon tattoos.’

‘What are you, a toddler, seriously?’ laughs Liam. He’s so drunk. They’re all so drunk.

‘We,’ Niall points to each of them individually, because there is so much room left for speculation as to who he might refer to given they're alone in the apartment, ‘are taking over,’ he snatches Harry’s phone, ‘your Instagram.’

‘Geolocations baby!’ cheers Liam, holding his Vodka Energy high in the air. Half of it lands in Harry’s hair.

‘Selfies!’ continues Niall, completely enraptured in the master plan he’s probably made up in the last minute.

‘Yeah, we should post one right now. No cropping our nostrils, no black and white filters.’ Liam is grinning at him, Harry being able to count his teeth with how wide his lips are stretched.

The man is seriously exaggerating Harry’s artistic view on life.

‘Look sexy!’ and the shutter goes off, Niall capturing the three of them somehow actually smiling into the front camera. Harry’s shirt forgotten somewhere on one of the cozy expensive chairs hours ago, Liam looking like he’s starring in Magic Mike and Niall’s face making all three of them smile while he plays with the app.

‘I’m gonna post it. Does he follow me? Hazza check if he follows me on that stalker thing,’ Niall’s laying on his stomach now, a true man on a mission.

‘Nah. He follows so few people.’ Harry’s eyes are enraptured by the screen, his thumb stopping in motion when something catches his attention. His look drifts to the blond man next to him, his eyes expectant. ‘Oh, fuck me. His first follow was Ed,’ Harry drawls.

Niall is quiet for a second, and then he’s laughing again, drunk off his ass.

‘The things I do for you Styles, honestly,’ Niall turns so his back is pressed on the floor of the ruby red carpet, and pulls up his contact list.

In a matter of minutes, Ed Sheeran’s Instagram is updated with the photo of Niall, Harry and Liam. The caption is simple, and Harry’s guess would be either Ed is drunk himself halfway across the world or they woke him up just for this.

‘Paris Fashionistas.’

‘You know, Voguezilla may rule the fashion world, but he’s no match for Irish here.’ Liam ruffles Niall’s hair and grins.

He’s not wrong.

They catch the first rays of sun rising over Paris while still sipping on one too many, and two floors up in the royal suite Louis wakes up to Ed Sheeran’s photo of Harry Styles shirtless.

Louis learned early on to recognize a sign when he sees one, so after only a little hesitation, he presses the follow button on the GQ chief’s profile.

The Earth somehow doesn’t stop spinning.

He gets dressed hazily and goes out to conquer the streets of Paris in his running shoes, mulling over the meaning of life and if whether he will ever be able to have it all.

\-------

Paris is a rush of shows, dinners and meetings. For Louis, it is also working in the car and in the Ritz, constant calls to New York and too little hours of sleep.

He joins Zayn in shooting a story for October’s issue in the Musee d’Orsay after closing hours, couture just featured in the shows looking spectacular in the white setting. The duo always feels like rule-breaking so they get things going through Sabine and style the whole thing with just a day of planning, making the accessories department ship them enough to choose from for an impromptu night of recklessness. Louis remembers why he fell in love with fashion so many years ago all over again, and when he glances over to see Zayn sitting on the floor checking the photos on his computer, he can see his best friend feels it too.

Usually, the days of fashion week seem to always blend together for Louis as he’s mostly across the pond. Italy and France are always pleasant and nice to him, the staff treating him like a king, but after a season or two of him being a senior editor for Bazaar, and then representing The New York Times, every following year started looking more like the others. Fashion business was a well-oiled machine, and fashion weeks were all about squeezing as much of business into seven days as possible.  

It feels somehow different now as he gets to see Harry there, too. Harry’s wearing a vintage Comme Des Garcons rock and roll printed blazer when they see each other in passing in the lobby of the Ritz, the night in full swing but for Louis it’s bed time while Harry is about to head out.

_(Harry's look:[blazer)](http://41.media.tumblr.com/674ca9eb44e24a21e8e04a1ef1c58ef2/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo2_1280.jpg)_

Louis feels like he’s losing his mind a bit because whenever he turns around Harry’s always standing so close, body by default turned towards him and talking to either the two friends he seemed to drag with him to Paris or some of the editors from other publications.

On Monday, Louis is excited for Dior, purple grass carpet playing with the audience’s mind as if they’re experiencing a music festival while high on drugs and not watching alta moda. It’s again about flowers for Simons running Dior and Louis loves it, always fascinated by the movement the guy injects into his work, the contrast of stiffness and lightness. Zayn is clearly happy, too, sketching furiously on his notepad, his head bobbing up and down as he tries to catch the details on the maxi dresses that keep flowing across the runway.

He somehow manages to picture Harry in some of the lightweight printed silk in spite of of the man himself being pushed to one of the rows in the back so Louis can’t spot him in the crowd. His mind is still a silent buzz of Harry, Harry, Harry. It’s all about Harry, the fabrics, and the smell of expensive perfumes mixed in the giant room.

As soon as the show’s over, Louis and Zayn lead the way back to Paris’ sun, the rest of the Vogue troop right behind them. Sabine manages to get a hold of Louis even though she must have been standing far in the back with other assistants, and immediately she starts rattling off his schedule, not missing a beat. Louis feels like sometimes she’s manhandling him even though he is in charge.

‘The Hillary Clinton piece just came in, it’s on your iPad in the car. Vogue Paris luncheon is today, and the LVMH Young Fashion Ceremony is at 5pm. I have a change of clothes for you in the car-’ They’re soon standing in front of the vehicle, Zayn lazily climbing inside, the hem of his hefty Balmain blazer a breeze of blue, yellow and red. Louis will have to steal that.

‘So much for a slow day,’ snaps out of Zayn’s mouth even before Louis can completely settle down. He runs his fingers across the fine leather upholstery of the town car, the spacious interior allowing the two of them to stretch their limbs. Louis throws his hair back and lets his eyes drift shut.

‘I wish September wasn’t such a hassle every year.’ Louis mutters to himself, pursing his lips.

‘That’s what happens when you want to outdo yourself every single time, love.’ Louis opens his eyes just in time to catch Zayn staring at him and then winking over the brim of his Thom Browne sunglasses. He looks like a model, and Louis’ mouth waters at the memory of how well he knows all of the bridges and junctions of Zayn’s body. The sonnets he could write this second about how he can squirm and pant just from dirty talk.

‘Can’t ruin the legacy now, can I?’ Louis continues peering at the passing Paris landscape, white buildings and flowers a permanent fixture in his mind every time he is in town. Crossing his arms over his chest, he debates whether he should try to squeeze in a nap before lunch. His mind is all sleep and no play today after staying up 'til six to catch up with New York.

‘It’s your best yet, Lou.’ Zayn shifts closer, all pretence of them being merely colleagues aside. His head rests on Louis’ shoulder as he curls his body to fit next to his best friend. ‘I’ve seen most of it already. It’s inspired, and you know how full of bullshit that word usually is for me. And the second editorial with John, I can’t believe we get to see him featured again. The world will lose their mind.’

If there’s anyone who’s more jubilant about featuring John Galliano than Louis, it’s Zayn. There’s always that one collection, that one person who captures your attention at some point in your life and it never really goes away, that fixation. The infatuation the duo had with Galliano was out of this world sometimes, but again, so was their line of work in general. And now, when they have their hero on the pages of their diary, well, life is pretty great.

‘Thanks babe. I hope all the youngsters who buy it for Kendall on the cover get the education they deserve in the rest of the spread.’

To say Louis is proud of what he’s about to put out would be an understatement. He’s still scared shitless.

They continue to sit peacefully in the car, waiting to be dropped off at the Ritz, the mecca of the fashion world for the week. And if Louis’ mind drifts off to the guy he missed at the show today, it’s only because Zayn’s fingers are drawing unidentifiable shapes across his chest and he can’t help but imagine what that would feel like if Harry was doing it with his ring-clad slender ones on his naked skin.

\------

Two hours later, Harry sees Louis for the first time that day. It’s not so surprising the guy is there, it being a Vogue event after all, but Harry still has a hard time keeping his heart from doing a happy dance in his chest when he sees the older man in the rich golden room.

The event is private, secluded. Conde Nast only. Niall’s off doing whatever famous DJs do and Liam is there with him, providing support and having absolutely zero understanding of what is going on.  In order to blend in, Harry’s got Liam in Gucci from head to toe. He’s even sporting loafers, the lovely hero he is.

Harry’s in McQueen for the occasion, not quite sure what attire would be appropriate for an intimate gathering as this. Turns out he was spot on when he looks around and catches most men sporting suits, ties forgotten and collars running loose. He’s clad in a marble-print shirt and slim fit trousers, the white and blue irregular patterns on the cotton making his eyes greener.

Nobody apart from him is wearing a bright orange organza headscarf. He counts it as a win.

The lunch makes Harry sit at a completely different part of the table from Louis and Zayn, the genius behind some of the dreamiest Vogue editorials. He’s seated with the rest of the British crew, chatting idly and catching up on everyone’s latest achievements. They will tackle gossip much later, once the Mimosas kick in.

That doesn’t mean he keeps his eyes off of Louis; instead he’s drinking him in. The guy’s clearly the king of them all, back an ever-straight line, chin held up high, eyes as blue as the Adriatic sea. He’s in all black, a tight-fitting silk shirt hugging his torso perfectly and when Louis turns while talking, Harry’s able to see the form of his shoulder blades on the smooth fabric.

‘You’re staring.’ Liam can be quite observant when he’s paying attention.

‘Can’t help myself.’ Harry chews his fish for longer than necessary, still enraptured in all that’s Louis Tomlinson. ‘Is this what’s it gonna be like for the rest of the week? Me being a baboon and staring while he’s being the ice queen?’

‘It’s Voguezilla.’ Liam’s glance runs over the room, and his eyes find the man sitting next to Louis. He’s got the sharpest bone structure Liam’s ever seen. Louis might not be the only one worth checking up on. Voguezilla has some good looking friends. ‘And all jokes aside. We’ll get this going, Styles. Baby steps. Instagram first, blowjobs next .’

Harry chews the rest of his salad absentmindedly. ‘I need to get laid. And I don’t even want to. I want him, and if I can’t have him I don’t want anyone else. Look at him Liam, he doesn’t even have competition in this world. In Roman times this one would be Caesar.’

He smoothes his face with his hands, one now resting on his forehead, the Mimosa placed firmly in the other. ‘I’m gonna have to wank in the shower twice today, just to keep myself in check for tomorrow’s shows.’

‘Heeeeey. Information overload!’ Liam’s face is wiped from bewilderment or judgement. His huge puppy eyes are sparkling, clearly amused while looking at his friend's struggles. ‘You know how whenever everything sucks and we feel like shit and we just want to watch Toy Story and eat crap food, Niall comes into the picture and things just change. Every single time. Remember my break-up? Niall got me drunk and you two idiots drove me to Germany. Best lay of my life right there.’

Harry’s eyes grow sunny at the memory. From the sounds Liam was making that night, it was the best lay of anyone’s life. He’s never sharing a hotel room wall with him again.

‘Yeah, okay, I’ll stop moping.’

‘You should. You’re crushing on this cool guy; he’s clearly interested too. Would be a fool not to be, so stop worrying. Stare him into oblivion or something. Can you do that? I’m not sure. I know what you can do. Eat the dessert obscenely like you mean it. Come on, use your resources, Styles. We got Paris at our feet this week. And Voguezilla on your cock if we’re lucky, too.’

Liam’s enthusiasm reaches extensive levels and soon half of their table is looking at them, faces ranging from surprised to plain offended. Harry silently starts praying nobody links Voguezilla to Louis, otherwise they’re toast.

‘Something funny?’ comes the voice from his left, and Harry realizes it’s not just anyone, but Louis actually acknowledging his existence in front of, well, anyone who matters in the fashion publishing world. Louis’ mouth is drawn up in a cocky smirk. Combined with the quiff he’s sporting and the strong lines of his jaw, he looks deadly. Not to mention gorgeous.

‘Ummm, yeah, was just talking about how we haven’t all seen each other for ages. What was it, two days ago that menswear ended?’ Harry grins.

He’s giving it all he’s got, teeth on display, dimples showing up almost instantly.

The room is roaring with laughter, nothing funnier to a fashion bunch than a clear ridicule of how extensive, and exhausting fashion weeks can be.

‘Aye, cheers to that.’ Louis brings his glass forward, cocking his head slightly to the left, as if he’s toasting Harry himself.

On the inside, Harry is dancing in the field naked, and it’s summer and it’s all glorious.

\--

Louis wakes up to sun tickling his nose.

That alone is weird enough, as he’s usually up before there’s even sun to begin with the majority of the time.

Scratch that, it’s always like that.

He slowly drags his head up from under the fabric of the soft sheets so he is facing the nightstand on his left. His hand is a tad too short to reach his iPhone, which is emitting light every second, a clear sign he’s missed something.

Once his limbs start functioning and he sits upright, and glances over to the life-size mirror in the corner of his plush room where the over-the-top windows meet the excessive tapestry-covered walls. His hair is sticking out in all the wrong places, his eyes a dull blue just like they always are when he wakes up. His skin looks healthy, thanks to the array of Chanel and Estee Lauder he pats on his cheeks on the daily.

It’s 9 am and he’s toast, the Chanel show starting in an hour and he’s overslept and Sabine’s getting fired.

You simply do not miss Lagerfeld.

Seeing as he currently possesses no pretence of dignity whatsoever, he presses number one on his speed dial and puts it on speaker phone.

‘Is there any explanation as to why I’m left to sleep till 9 am on the busiest day of the week? Have you been in a car crash?’ he barks out.

There’s no way he can make it to Grand Palais in time.

‘I’m sorry Louis, you always have your buzzer ready for the run in the morning. I didn’t want to bother you.’ Sabine sounds frantic, and Louis can hear she’s already scrambling up her papers  and rushing through the hallway that’s connecting his apartment and her room.

He finds her abruptly coming to a halt once she notices he’s rummaging through his closet in nothing but briefs.

‘The only reason you’re not fired is the fact I have no time to search for another assistant in the middle of the couture week, and two weeks before September goes to print.’

Fuming, Louis crosses his arms, turning around to face Sabine properly. It’s almost as he can hear her rapid heart beat in the otherwise silent room, the rush of the Paris traffic nothing but a silent buzz beneath them.

‘Fuck, let’s go. Stop making it worse. Get me make up and hair in five. Where’s Varvatos I planned on wearing today? Move it.’

There’s no room for niceties, and Sabine knows it judging by the way she flies out of the room, her Prada heels clacking on the bright parquet.

She’s back in less than a minute, Louis having changed his briefs and dressed in a simple white tee.

‘No bag, get me that Saint Laurent necktie scarf, and Jimmy Choos. The chocolate-colored turtle pattern.’

Fifteen minutes later, elevators doors are closing behind them, Louis tramping behind Zayn in a dark blue speckle suit that looks like the night sky.

_(Louis' look:[suit ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/97ab680cb316d263e0aadb22f57cb23f/tumblr_inline_ns9ve1ItLx1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/348fc8abf51d8f0ebe53145d2944dd52/tumblr_inline_ns9veeGOOJ1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

They make it with five minutes to spare.

Anna was always there 15 minutes early. Louis’ head starts to hurt.

Celebrities staged in a casino and models walking around them, the clothes once again pushed to the back of everyone’s mind.

Louis’ mind drifts off after the fifteen-minute mark and he’s once again grateful for the sunglasses, a tradition he decided to keep from Anna.

It’s over sooner rather than later and Louis gets up slowly, feeling no need to rush as the palace is big enough for everyone to trickle out peacefully and in no time. His first thought of Harry comes only when he’s faced with the man himself, a few steps between them.

He blames it on the lack of coffee. One does not simply function without coffee.

Harry looks dashing as ever. He blends in exceptionally well with the high-class sophistication that comes with shows like Chanel, even though he has kept a rather excessive amount of his grungy, eccentric style personality.

Dressed in a black suit and a crisp white shirt, he's replaced a pocket square with a rose the shade of a flamingo and his hair is in firm braids spreading from his scalp to the back of his head where his neck begins. On his feet is a pair of nude Adidas Supercolor sneakers.

_(Harry's look:[suit ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f1ad1218119e41ff2ccfc6748eec1a30/tumblr_inline_ns9viqWBZn1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [sneakers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/c4bb921fc925b8cb66b17d814574b5de/tumblr_inline_ns9vjlYEDE1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

Louis desperately wants to kiss him.

He also wants him on Vogue.com in the matter of minutes so, not thinking it through, he crosses the space between his body and Harry’s and clears his throat.

Harry’s smile is blinding. And if Louis was a poet, he’d write songs about him for the rest of eternity.

His art, however, is more explicit than words.

‘Couldn’t help but notice the bold look you’ve got going on.’

Louis’ not afraid, no. That’s just his heart thumping in his ears. His blood is lava. No biggie.

Harry hesitates for just a second, then slowly but sweetly drags out: ‘Thank you.’

There is no doubt in Louis’ mind that now, or ever, for that matter, it would be impossible for him to say no to this man standing in front of him.

‘Mind going back with me for a second? I’d like to get a shot of you for our website. Might make it to the 'look of the day' section. I know some people.’

Still a little dazed, Louis places his hand in the pocket of his suit, but doesn’t falter. He puts on a smile, and it hits him how flirty he sounds. His intention was far from it but apparently his brain decided to not transmit signals to his mouth properly so instead of rational he is sporting a foolish look today. How lovely.

Harry’s whole face is startled, and for a moment Louis thinks Harry isn’t treating his proposal with the gravity it deserves, which means he will have to repeat it.

He’s not sure if he’s capable of so many words. Harry’s hair still looks like chocolate.

‘Only if you return the favour,’ Harry declares. He underlines his statement by bouncing on his feet, an expectant smile on his face.

‘Don’t get cheeky with me, Styles.’ Louis mutters, getting ready to flee the country. Maybe if he leaves now, just escapes completely, he’ll be able to forget this man and his perfect looks and what seems like a dreamy personality.

He's heard Madagascar is nice.

He’s still in Paris, though. And what he really wants is that photo of Harry for the site. He’s a vision. And Louis doesn’t pass on opportunities like this.

‘Let’s go,’ Louis decides, grabbing Harry by the wrist and dragging him towards the center of the enormous space, right by one of the casino tables. He’s, of course, too graceful to drag anyone so he’s using a bit of force to make the man behind him move his feet and follow him.

He doesn’t even notice what he’s doing until Harry misses a step, because what else could possibly happen, and Louis looks up to see people looking at them a bit strangely, not used to seeing Louis display any emotion.

Ever the professional, Louis quickly recovers, gently removing his hand from Harry’s arm. He marches over to where the light hits the white floor perfectly and waits for Harry to follow.

Harry’s fool enough to come after him.

‘Are you gonna make me a star?’ he asks, looking at Louis through his eyelashes, head slightly bowed down, like he’s done this before. Like it’s nothing to be posing for a photo for Vogue.com in the middle of Grand Palais minutes after Chanel couture ended.

1:0 to Styles. He’s good at making Louis squirm.

‘Sure thing, baby.’ Louis replies walking backwards, trying to get the perfect shot. ‘Just think about all the fame and the glory, the sushi and the cocktails you’ll get once the world sees you.’

Harry’s laugh is too loud for the room. Louis can’t be bothered to mind, even though with anyone else he would already be halfway through the door.

Just as he snaps a photo for one of his editors to put up on the web, and opens up Instagram to get another one for himself, Harry pulls out a weapon of his own, and does the same.

‘Ear for an ear.’  

Yes, Harry would say something like that.

Louis is startled into a laugh. ‘Don’t toy with me. Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to?’ Sun seems to be nuzzling Harry’s face and Louis needs to glance away. ‘You shouldn't let the exterior fool you.’

Harry’s face doesn’t change. With a small shrug of his shoulders, he seems to have accepted the fact Louis might be ruining his future any time. Either that, or he is so good at reading people and he knows there is no chance in hell Louis would ever do anything to hurt him.

‘Okay, I have another proposition.’ Harry rushes the words out before Louis has a chance to budge in. ‘Instead of me putting this fabulous photo online,’ his smile stretches as he proudly extends his arm in the direction of Louis’ face so the photo is only inches away from the blue eyes, ‘you and Zayn can join me and my friends for drinks in Hotel Du Nord.’

Alright, Louis is having a heart attack. Why is this gorgeous idiot not giving up? Is he even interested? Or is this just a game for him? Why is everything that comes out of chocolate curls’ mouth proving to be a challenge of massive proportions for Louis? He needs alcohol and deep breaths and to just try to not fucking lose it on the spot.

Louis’ posture slightly eases, and he replies: ‘Sure. I might have a few spare minutes.’

Who is he even trying to fool at this point.

They head back almost simultaneously, Louis still working on his breathing. Harry seems at ease, his shoulders a straight contour in Louis’ line of vision.

Harry reaches his friends in a matter of few confident steps, and when he comes to a halt, Louis notices Zayn standing with the blonde and the buff friend, having blended in already.

‘Oh, Louis, did you know Harry’s friend Niall is actually DJ Neil? The same one we’ve been talking about playing our digital party in New York in a few weeks?’ Zayn’s smile is so fake that even his teeth look plastic

‘Hey mate, that would be ace. Just give me a call! And hey, I’m Niall.’ The blonde is as cheery as it gets, apparently. His smile burns next to Zayn’s, who is looking at Louis the way only true friends look at each other when there’s something going on.

Louis extends his arms and shakes Niall’s. ‘Pleasure.’

‘And I’m Liam, it’s nice to finally meet the man I’ve heard so much about.’

Three things happen all at once, as soon as the words leave Liam’s mouth. Zayn starts laughing but quickly covers it with a cough. Niall’s elbow ends up somewhere in Liam’s ribcage and Harry shivers, his hand ending up in his hair, almost as if he was about to cover his face with it but opting for nonchalance.

‘All good, I hope.’

‘The best.’ Liam’s sincere, and his eyes look big and thoughtful, and Louis smiles, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, his nerves getting the best of him.

Harry decides to speak up, their weird half-circle visibly tense. ‘Louis and I were just talking how he’s going to grace us with his presence for drinks. Zayn, you’re more than welcome to join.’

Zayn only nods, looking at Louis for silent confirmation before they move on. Louis doesn’t show any sign of backing off and it feels like Christmas in Zayn’s head, his heart bursting with hope for his best friend.

‘Shall we?’ Niall’s the first one to move, making a beeline for the exit. Louis can spot Fred or Frank or whatever his name was waiting for him at the car.

Niall, however, doesn’t share his viewpoint as he maneuvers himself to one of two Vespas parked obscenely close to the Grand Palais.

Louis’ brows shoot up. What a travesty. The only people he can excuse riding these idiotic machines are tourists and teenagers.

‘Is Conde Nast not providing you with a car for the week?’ Louis can’t help but ask. His body is already naturally inclined to search for Harry.

Harry’s laugh is more of a bark. That man’s a living wonder.

‘Not everyone’s running Vogue. And actually, I have no idea, never bothered to ask.’

‘We took the train here.’ Liam jumps in, quite literally, throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulders.

‘The train? As in… railway?’ Louis can hear Zayn laughing hysterically to his left, not sure if it’s at his bewilderment or Harry’s idiotic behaviour.

‘You only live once, innit?’ Niall doesn’t seem bothered by Louis’ elitism.

He’s climbing onto his Vespa as he speaks, blue helmet already on his head so only a few strands of blonde hair peek out in the front. He’s dressed neatly, what Louis can only assume is Harry’s work. He’s in all white, the only brush of color coming from the collar of his shirt. He’s sporting linen trousers and they look exquisite, finishing just right around the ankles. You cannot see any bare skin, however, as there is a pair of bright white high-top Converse at Niall’s feet. His sunglasses are polarized and are throwing off various shades of green. He blends in, even though Louis knows the man usually wears nothing but jeans and random monochrome shirts. DJs don’t tend to care about fashion a lot. Louis is glad Niall has Harry to guide him.

_(Niall's look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a178b55a75b0c29813fc578b773c4cbf/tumblr_inline_ns9vlr69971sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/cc68a7696d7e1975e4dd51972fcf8438/tumblr_inline_ns9vlz4cQQ1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘Not sure about that. I’ll take my car, and we can meet up there.’

As if he’s risking his life only to get his hair ruined and his suit wrinkled. Town cars were invented for a reason, to be driven around towns.

Louis throws a decent smile in Harry’s direction and turns around, catching a glimpse of Harry’s long legs straddling the motorcycle. He’s wearing a gold helmet.

Louis is totally and absolutely screwed. When his dick gives a feeble twitch, he starts walking.

As soon as they are protected by the car’s black-tinted windows and sturdy exterior, Zayn attacks Louis with everything he has.

Louis thinks how nobody who dresses that well should be able to fire that many questions in a minute.

‘Lou, what is happening?’ His brown eyes are actually sparkling. ‘You are gonna marry this one.’ He clasps his hands and giggles.

Louis has never seen Zayn giggle.

‘Is this supposed to be supportive?’ Louis is having none of it. Not really sure why he is still fighting it, whatever it is, since he’s currently sitting in the car taking them to a bar where he will meet the lanky lamb of his dreams.

‘We both know this is good. Your ice heart is melting.’

If he starts singing the soundtrack to Frozen, Louis is gonna kick him out of the moving car.

Zayn is still focused on Louis, spirits still running high.

‘Oh my, it’s gonna be a Vogue wedding!’

Louis turns his body fully towards Zayn and his best friend is half sitting, half squatting on the seat, one leg bent in a right angle, his dark blue Berlutti shoe peeking underneath his thigh. As if he can’t contain himself, he starts slow clapping.

‘Can it be a Vogue wedding, Lou, please? I’m gonna ask Tom to design a perfect suit for you, he’s gonna wear Dior Homme. We can shoot it in Positano, overlooking the sea. I can’t decide on the photographer, but we have time for that. Flowers, lots of flowers. I know you want peonies.’

Louis slaps him. His hand barely touches Zayn’s skin, but it’s there.

‘I’m having a fucking life crisis here. Bambi’s all hot and has the right words and never ceases to amaze. He is literally perfect husband material. And I’m me. And there’s no marriage in store for me. There’s no point, Zayn. You know how it will end. He’ll fall in love, I will fall in love. But it’s always gonna be Vogue before him. And Vogue is not nine to five. It’s all the fucking time. And it’s in New York. I don’t know if you forgot, but we live in that city across the ocean and his British ass resides in London. I have more to deal with than I’ve ever thought was possible, and I go to sleep at two to wake up at five thirty to go for a run and then I’m at the office long before anyone else comes in. My evenings are going through mock up after mock up with a bottle of wine for company, and my days are filled with meetings. I’m responsible for this entire industry. I’m more or less his boss by extension.’ Louis slumps in his seat, exhausted from the words that have left his mouth.

Only Zayn could get him to let out a word vomit before noon. He still hasn’t had his coffee.

His best friend’s face is full of compassion when he looks at him, and Louis is not sure if he’s gonna cry or yell at the driver to turn around.

‘Okay, sorry. I was excited, babe. It’s been a long time since you last looked at someone like that. Actually, when I think about it, I don’t think you ever have. I want you to be happy. You’ve achieved your dreams already. There’s not much more you can do except be excellent at your position.’ Zayn’s hands roam over Louis’ thighs in slow, languid motions.

He lets Louis take a breath before he continues. ‘Okay, so, you can’t marry him. Fuck him instead. Take the easy route.’

‘Not sure I’m able to do that, Zaynie.’ There are cold beads of sweat all over Louis’ forehead and he feels like the world’s spinning way too fast.

‘What’s there to lose? Your heart?’ Zayn pokes his cheek with his finger, his other hand rummaging Louis’ hair. ‘The last time you got your heart broken, you worked so hard they offered you the Times post.’

Louis lets out a short breath, letting his head hit the seat.

‘Fuck him. Maybe you just need to get him out of your system.’

It’s a lie and they both know it, but it somehow brings a calm wave that rushes over Louis and when he steps out of the car, he’s got his game face on.

Nobody fucks with Louis Tomlinson. Except Harry Styles. Possibly.

‘I’m still calling dibs on the wedding.’ Zayn’s voice muffled voice comes as an afterthought.


	2. Rome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to chapter 1 was overwhelming. Thank you for your support, and voicing your support, it's beautiful and it made me very happy.

Hotel du Nord’s never been host to a more spectacular bunch.

Although it’s fashion week, and the hotel’s restaurant and adjoining bar are filled with nothing but over-the-top, immaculately dressed people, the sight of two of Vogue’s leading executives, the world’s most prominent DJ and members of Britain’s It-Clique all sitting at the same table is quite breathtaking.

Louis is not quite sure if Liam is really ‘It-Boy’ material, but he’s loud and present and he draws you in, so Louis marks him as such anyway. Liam is good karma.

Joining Harry, Niall and Liam at the table in the center of the bar, and climbing one of the two remaining high stools enriched in gold, Louis can feel preying eyes on him.

When he was younger, the looks he got were always because of his fine ass. Today, it’s intimidation. Oh, the good old days.

Zayn climbs the chair next to him, and the denim overall stretches over his petite body so that you can almost see the outline of his thigh muscles.

Zayn is crazy and driven, sometimes going overboard with ideas. However, he’s got an eye like no other, and he’s the only one Louis can see pulling off a long-sleeve full-body denim suit for front row at Chanel. He didn’t bother with accessories, as Zayn usually doesn’t care about those, letting clothes speak volumes, but he’s wearing McQueen monk strap leather boots in cognac and they pop, matching his eyes. He’s a vision.

_(Zayn's look:[denim overalls](https://40.media.tumblr.com/e6db4552e39c43764b3da0af126f0183/tumblr_inline_nsll6pV6YV1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/ba7c352509f3b8eff2d8a5dd6b5cf187/tumblr_nsll6wudlC1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

As Louis settles down, wiggling his bum a bit to fit the narrow chair, Harry graces Louis with a smile so gentle, Louis feels as if it’s his fingertips grazing him across the cheeks.

Louis feels all kinds of happy right now, and he’s not sure if it’s the general exhaustion of fashion week messing with his brain, or the fact that Harry is next to him. Maybe it’s the way they all look exquisite and he can imagine them gracing a Monet painting, even though with Monet no one would be able to tell Liam's wearing a beige suit next to Zayn’s blue attire.

‘Shit, we look so good together, we need a photo. For Instagram.’ Harry turns around, his legs dangling off the high chair, eyes chasing a prey foolish enough to take his iPhone.

And Louis thought he was obsessed with social media. Harry’s on a whole other level.

Niall’s cackling. Of course. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much style in one square meter.’

And he’s not wrong. Niall’s still wearing the total white look with Liam next to him in a Louis Vuitton carved wood print suit. Harry’s black and white is almost timid next to Zayn’s eccentric choice, but Louis tops them all. The suit he’s wearing is like the night sky, loud and quiet at the same time. He looks better than a movie star.

Harry’s quest is achieved in a matter of minutes. Louis can’t say he’s surprised.

Before he can even question if this is okay, if his photo should even be featured on someone else’s Instagram, if he should be posing at all, the shutter goes off and one of the faces Louis sees every fashion week but can’t put a name to smiles at all of them, eyes widening into slightly scared when stopping on Louis’ face.

He plays it nice and nods, lips quirked in a tight smile.

‘I can’t believe I’m actually sitting next to you.’ Harry addresses him as soon as he drops his iPhone on the table, which is currently hosting Zayn’s Givenchy pouch stolen from the closet when Louis was too busy working, Harry’s ridiculous Fendi keychains with Lagerfeld’s furry head, and all of their iPhones and Balenciaga and Prada wallets.

‘And why is that? Am I that much more beautiful in real life?’ The words escape Louis’ mouth before he knows it and he feels Zayn’s boot on his tibia. So much for the soft leather McQueen’s been advertising.

Harry’s smile is soft and he’s staring right at him.

Louis feels naked when he meets Harry’s eyes.

‘Since you asked, yes. But most of all, I’m a big fan.’ His curls bounce slightly as he places his hand on the table, very close to where Louis’ elbow has been resting.

Harry has exceptional hands. Big and strong, with fascinating fingers. They could be put to quite a use, in all ways. Louis is not sure if those fingers would feel better wrapped around his cock or crooking in his ass -- and yes, there’s people around him and he shouldn't get a boner. This is a fashion week, not a porn convention Tomlinson, get a grip.

He needs a good wank later.

‘That would be an understatement.’ Niall’s the first one to burst Louis’ bubble.

Louis can see Harry shaking his head in his line of vision as if Harry was trying to ground his mind, and he feels himself doing the same. Like a mirror.

‘Why is that?’ Louis turns to Niall, leaning back in his chair.

‘Ever heard of the word role model?’ Liam fires back, looking fondly at Harry. ‘Young Hazza here thinks of you as his.’

‘Hazza? Are you both twelve?’

‘You call me Zaynie.’

‘That’s only when you steal from the closet.’ Louis makes a point by picking up the pouch lying between them.

‘The closet? I thought you can only come out of a closet? Not steal from it?’ Harry’s laughing at his own terrible jokes. Of course he is.

Oh, the naivety. And oh, the bad humour. Louis finds Harry staring at him, waiting for a reaction. Zayn is inaudibly chuckling next to him.

‘GQ is a weird place. Must be, since you literally tell the world’s weirdest jokes.’ Louis can’t help himself, and he turns towards Harry again. It’s like gravity.

‘So what’s the closet?’ Harry looks seriously interested.

It bothers Louis more than it should, the honest curiosity.

Why couldn’t he have met a random guy and just fucked him senseless. He has to go and find the one who actually cares about the things Louis loves and on top of that, isn’t too intimidated to ask. It’s been ages since he’s met anyone who wasn’t too afraid of his position or influence to ask just the simple, regular questions.

‘The closet is, young Harry, a magical place where garments live. It’s home to everyone from JCrew to Dior. For Zayn here, it’s also an excuse for snooping and snatching.’

Zayn, used to his best friend and his bickering, throws one of his skinny hands lightly in the vicinity of Louis’ cheek and Louis lazily ducks it. He’s now a bit closer to Harry.

‘Basically, whatever we get for shoots or order from lookbooks, plus everything PR departments send to the office is stored in the closet. It’s a huge room filled with clothes. When you step onto our floor, a lot of it is on racks in the hallways, whatever editors will need for run throughs or what’s being sent off to shoots. The halls are mostly filled with racks because we like to intimidate people. But the closet, the closet is where magic happens…. the home of the gems. Anna used to make them clean it out completely before each new season hit, but I always visit the closet before the girls start fighting over who’s gonna get what and I keep the pieces we will be able to shoot in a few years as vintage.’

Louis puts on his winning smile which is mostly just his regular smile, but his eyes soften a bit, too, and it’s ridiculous how he can feel his whole body ease into it by the minute.

Harry’s looking at him with wonder in his eyes.

‘In London, we have a strict no clothes in the hallways rule.’ Liam jumps in, glancing at Louis with an amused look.

‘Why is that?’ Zayn’s the one to voice what both of Vogue directors are thinking.

‘Harry falls down a lot.’ Liam responds. ‘And by a lot, I mean a lot. Since there’s so many different departments all in one place, we mesh a lot and bicker sometimes, too. It usually ends up with a bit of footie or golf in the hallways. And Hazza’s not the most coordinated person. But his team spirit runs high. It can get hilarious.’

‘You play what exactly in the hallways?’ Louis’ mouth is ajar.

‘Football.’ The British trio is now giggling, Niall clearly also partakes in Olympics through the hallways of Conde Nast offices.

‘I don’t know what’s more disturbing, the word football or the fact you allow sports in the office halls. I expected more from you, Harry.’

‘It’s football. You play football. Using your feet. To kick a ball. Foot-ball. Football.’ Harry’s hands are in the air, wildly gesticulating to show Louis what football is. As if he didn’t know that already.

‘And it’s about building and raising team spirit! Team spirit in the workplace increases unity and job performance.’

Louis’ face paints a picture of exasperation. Why is England even a country? Everybody skips London for fashion week anyway.

‘You work in publishing. Not in a public school.’

Harry continues to grin happily at him. Because, apparently, ignorance is bliss.

‘And here I am stuck with the man who forgets to leave for lunch most of the days and expects everyone else to do the same.’ Zayn’s face is a mixture of good old fashioned amusement and confusion. He rolls his eyes for good measure. ‘Soccer, oh sorry, football,’ Zayn looks pointedly at Harry, ‘in the halls, can you imagine?’

‘That’s why we eat GQ for dinner, Zaynie.’ Louis’ having none of this nonchalant attitude.

‘Heeeeeey.’ Harry’s knuckles gently knock Louis’ biceps.

Why is Harry a tactile person? Why can’t Harry be a person far away from Louis?

‘What I’m basically thinking here is talking to Townsend about firing you. Soccer in the hallways, what kind of publication are you running?’

Harry’s face falls a bit, but he quickly recovers. ‘You’re a bit stuck-up. Sometimes icy.’

Whoa, and that’s not something Louis was expecting.

Before Louis can muster up a reply, Harry continues: ‘Our numbers were good last year, and I want people who work for me to feel good. Ever thought about that? We still do our jobs. And even though you probably think I’m 10 leagues beneath you, that’s not how this works. Our magazine is the market leader in our category. We both may carry the editor-in-chief title, Louis, but our roles are different.’

When Harry finally looks at Louis, it’s with a satisfied smile on his face, and Louis can tell he needed to get this off his chest. Even if just for himself.

‘Is this what you want to do? If I were to ask you… did you make your dreams come true? What would your answer be?’ Louis doesn’t falter or look away, slightly mesmerized by the passion the younger man has just shown him.

To see such passion, and have someone voice it so openly, is quite rare. And Louis thinks that Harry could be one of those rare precious things himself, too.

Harry’s answer is a short ‘No’. He grabs the glass with his slender fingers and starts turning it around, the rosy liquid forming bubbles around the bowl.

Louis is fascinated by how honest he is. If he were to go ask the same question around the room, he would get all yeses. Fashion is rarely about the truth.

‘What about you?’

‘Yes. Nothing I would rather do.’

If there is one thing Louis is certain of, it’s this, and he’s not going to ponder over it for long.

His mind spins around the fact that this might be an opportunity Harry gave him to further enquire about what his dream job would be, but Louis decides to let it slide.

He somehow has an inkling this isn’t the last that he will hear about this,

‘If there’s one thing I can advise you, it would be to work hard. Opportunities don’t create themselves, you do.’ Louis doesn’t give inspirational speeches, but Harry looks like he may need it, and he’s already bent every rule in his book when it comes to the man next to him. ‘And if you ever wish to see what real fashion looks like, I will smuggle you in to our headquarters and maybe even let you borrow something from the closet. I have a feeling you would look great in a dress, Harry Styles. Maybe Cavalli.’

Disaster averted. Maybe. Louis never had a crash course in dealing with feelings.

‘Well this all escalated quickly. Rollercoaster of sexual tension, I'd say.’ Niall states, and reaches for the bottle. ‘Shall we make this a little less depressing for the rest of us?’

‘I literally dragged you to Paris so you can feast your eyes staring at models five times a day, Horan. Don’t make me regret this.’ By the way Harry’s smiling, albeit not as loud as usual, Louis can tell he’s not annoyed. At least not enough to be openly showing it.

To make sure they are all on the same page, Louis mentally slaps himself for courage and stirs the conversation to one of the things he’s sure of in this life - alcohol.

‘What did you say about that wine?’ He nudges his head towards the bottle sitting on the table, and he can feel the tension dissipate.

Once Niall’s got all of their glasses filled with the finest rosé the hotel has to offer, Harry clears his throat, stretches his torso and picks up his glass. His smile is glistening, and if Louis had to describe happiness, he would just write Harry’s name down.

‘I would like to propose a toast. They say you never meet your heroes, but after what I’ve experienced today I can say they were wrong. It’s an honor and a pleasure, Louis Tomlinson.’ Harry’s eyes are big and round, pupils wide with explosive green.

Louis can feel a blush creeping up his cheeks and he’s lost for words, not sure why Harry would ever proclaim such things, especially after calling him out on being an ice queen.

Zayn can feel Louis tensing up, so he takes the helm.

‘Heeeey, what about me?’ His smirk could be seen from miles away. ‘You do know he’s not the one behind all those dreamy editorials? It’s all me, don’t let his title fool you.’

‘I’ve never gotten around to praise you about last October’s spread. It was wonderful, Zayn.’ Harry’s gaze travels across Louis’ features to the man he’s addressing.

‘Oh you flatter me, young man. What a polite editor, the world could do with more like you.’

‘Are you saying I’m not polite?’ Louis’ taking fake offence to this and he’s gonna do it properly, forgetting his title and manners for a moment. He jumps off his stool, climbs into Zayn’s lap and shifts his body until he’s facing Zayn, taking the man’s face in his hands. ‘Et tu Brute?’

Louis can see Niall and Liam laughing at him, and he’s sure Harry’s not missing a beat either.

‘Get off of me, you idiot. You’re gonna get us both wrinkled.’ Zayn cups Louis’ ass and tries to throw him off.

They continue the bickering for a bit, and Louis returns to his place only when he feels as if Harry missing from the equation is actually hurting him.

The end to what Louis feels is the most comfortable he’s been in ages comes when his phone vibrates loudly and the chorus to Queen To Piece by Florence + The Machine starts playing.

Louis picks up the phone and stares ahead, brows furrowed as he lets the person behind the line talk. He makes quick work of it, murmuring a few short words and then hanging up, a mere minute into the conversation.

‘Gotta go, a few missing pieces for the issue just came in and I need to go over them. Also, Zayn, I need you to call Tonne for the accessories spread.’

‘You’re still working?’ Harry’s quick to ask him as soon as he pockets his iPhone.

‘I’m never not working.’ Louis turns to him one last time before climbing off the chair, waiting for Zayn to do the same. ‘Actually, scratch that. I don’t see it as work.’

‘Yeah, it’s actually his obsessive need to be in control and his utter perfectionism.’ Zayn provides.

‘Can’t disagree.’

The younger man’s eyes are wide, like he’s drinking in everything Louis is.

\---

Harry catches him again the next day, just as they are exiting the Margiela show. They’re both wearing matching loopy expressions, still under the influence of what they’ve just witnessed.

‘You're a fan?’ Louis asks Harry when they’re walking side by side. The show was a quiet affair, the number of people present reduced by half compared to the normal standards.

‘He’s a genius. So glad he’s back.’ Harry grins at him, his eyes a bit sparkly.

‘Wanna go say hi?’

‘To Galliano?’

If Louis had to choose a moment to capture in time, it would be of Harry looking at him, eyes wide, mouth open. His expression is a jumble of astonishment and excitement. Louis can’t help the way his heart thumps a little louder at the pure passion pouring out of the boy standing next to him.

It hits him that Harry called him his hero yesterday, and now Louis is presenting him with the opportunity to meet another.

‘The one and only. Come on, I’m sure he would love to meet you.’ Louis’ glance travels from Harry’s face to his arms, sneaking away and tucked behind his back. ‘Not sure about the whole hipster look, though. We’re at couture, love.’

Love.

Slowing down in his step, Louis’ mind starts racing and he’s about to apologize when Harry knocks his shoulder lightly again Louis’.

‘Couldn’t bear the suits anymore, babe.’

Harry’s gaze lowers to the ground instantly, like it took him all of his courage to say that, and Louis catches a smile that spreads across Harry’s lips before his head falls down all the way and Harry’s black fedora blocks the view.

They walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, Louis letting his eyes roam over Harry’s body, cataloguing the obvious differences between them. Harry is taller than him, his shoulders stretched wide and his torso narrowing with every inch as Louis’ eyes travel down to his waist. Today he’s opted for combat cargo shorts with leaves painted on and a white tank top with a wide scoop neck. Louis can tell he’s heavily tattooed even with the black Saint Laurent shirt covering his arms. He’s got the sleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows and his left wrist is littered with woven leather-wrap bracelets in black and brown, while the right one houses only a silver-tone anchor bracelet. Louis can tell it’s Lanvin because he has the same one. He’s not sure what to make of it.

The combat boots on his feet are Margiela. Louis wonders if Harry really does wear at least one piece of clothing from the designer whose show he is attending. Louis cannot stop himself from smiling at how adorable he is.

_(Harry's look:[shorts ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/2ffd1cbb963054fd8fadbe8dcfb30aae/tumblr_nslm60Nxv91tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/85e5a81eb0b4e6e4c58f20e89e85bf56/tumblr_inline_nsllmfgQkR1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [boots ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bae0966447a014b6910d1f4e65b5fb9d/tumblr_inline_nsllv7BYFo1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [fedora](https://40.media.tumblr.com/a30c8c24bbad802b4a2f833d20075886/tumblr_inline_nslm5v2tUx1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [bracelet](https://41.media.tumblr.com/48d84f739ca7c93d61fae8af3a571c71/tumblr_inline_nsllm6o7r41sf1zml_540.jpg))_

By the time they enter, almost everyone who was present at the show has already migrated in flocks to the backstage area. The heavy air hits them, too many people in the same place. Galliano greets Louis with open arms, patting him slightly on the back.

Louis wishes there were more people as talented as him, and he isn’t shy enough not to say it.

Harry watches their interaction from a step behind and when Galliano smiles goofily at the compliment, Louis reaches out to the man he can feel is trembling with excitement next to him.

‘John, I’d like you to meet Harry Styles, GQ’s editor-in-chief. He’s from London.’

Galliano’s eyes scan Harry for a bit, his gaze scrutinizing. He’s got a way of reading people. Louis always connects with disturbed great artists where you feel like you’re laying your soul bare before them.

‘Ahhh, nice to meet you. Haven’t seen you before. Are you new to our game?’ Galliano’s eyes are smiling, and his hand is resting on Harry’s elbow as if they’re old friends.

‘It’s an honour. I’ve been a huge fan ever since I was a child.’ Harry looks like it’s Christmas morning, his eyes a bit brighter and his smile spread wide.

At Harry’s compliment, Galliano bows his head, his smile still present. Throwing his arms in the air, he gasps.

‘How happy this makes me, to know Louis found someone this sweet. Look at you two, glowing!’

Before Louis even has time to recover, Harry takes a deep breath and answers. ‘Oh, we aren't together! I haven’t even kissed him yet, but I’m working on it.’

Like it’s nothing.

It’s a bit ridiculous, but also a lot confusing, the way Louis’ insides twist when Harry looks at him after proclaiming to the biggest fashion icon of their generation about his obvious attraction to Louis.

Louis isn’t sure, but he suddenly feels as though he can hear colors.

He sees Galliano’s head bouncing up and down, eyes brimmed with tears from laughing. Did he actually space out for a bit there?

When the designer speaks again, he’s looking at Harry.

‘Don’t give up on him, the first time I saw him he was cool as a cucumber; closed off, all work. And then he puts all his effort into bringing me back to the industry, shows more passion than anyone I’ve ever seen before. Soon enough, Anna sees it too, and look at us now. I’m back and he’s the king!’

The laugh is once again taking him over as he continues, unfazed by the world around him. ‘Everything looks better in the morning. If he doesn’t open his door for you today, knock again tomorrow!’

Harry’s like a ray of sunshine next to him, smiling kindly at John, his gaze flickering between the two men he’s standing with.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t get compliments. Getting them from your personal heroes though, it’s a nice change. Louis takes note to not let this slip from his memory. Not sure what he’s focusing on more, the words he was rewarded with or Harry’s unspoken, heavy reaction to them, so he vows to himself to remember the moment as a whole.

When they finally escape the backstage hustle, it’s to fierce Paris sunshine and vivid streets, busy with media and lined-up cars waiting for the guests to take them to the next show.

Harry turns to him as soon as they are out the door, but not before checking if someone is listening in around them.

‘Wanna kill the time before Saab with me? I’m taking John’s advice.’

And when Louis informs Harry he shouldn’t, Harry doesn’t seem to want to hear it. Instead, he proceeds to walk over to Louis’ car.

The man is full of wonders, as Louis is never able to spot his designated car without Sabine’s help. Masking his amazement, he follows suit and climbs in when Harry opens the door for him, and they ride in silence. Louis’ nerves endings are on alert and he’s aware of every breath Harry takes and it should bother him, but mostly he’s just lost. Harry’s legs are long next to his, and he’s leaning on the door, his eyes locked on the passing surroundings.

 

 

 

> _And every city was a gift_
> 
> _And every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips_
> 
> _And I was making you a wish_

Louis falls in love with Paris just a bit more right there.

\-----

It turns out that Harry’s secretly a Paris fanatic and honestly, Louis is not that surprised.

They end up in a thrift shop on Rue de Saintonge. The shop is small and the only window wears a sign saying ‘Pretty Box’ in white, italic letters.

‘It is only appropriate.’ Harry opens the door for him and when they enter, a smell of vintage hits them. Louis hasn’t been properly shopping in ages and he’s endeared by the idea.

Harry’s a hurricane of laughter and bad jokes, trying on vintage Cavalli shirts and picking out the loudest YSL hats. The tags on the garments whisper sweet stories of history to Louis and he feels full, all of his senses on high alert.

‘So you know Galliano,’ states Harry, donned out in the quirkiest Schiaparelli jacket, massive sunglasses perched on his nose.

‘What gave me away?’ Louis turns around, clutching a black and white Kenzo shirt from 1987 in one hand and an Issey Miyake double-breasted red coat in the other. He sets them on the counter gently and goes back to the shelves, picking out a delicious Hermes wool coat in a camel color with a high neck.

‘I can’t believe you were the one responsible for bringing him back, Louis. I haven’t heard this story from anyone.’

‘I haven’t shared it with anyone except Zayn, and I was quite happy to let Anna take over.’

Louis’ eyes are roaming the room. He’s still on a quest to find some hidden treasures, and his speech is slow.

‘There are good designers, and there are great ones. And then there are legends. The late Saint Laurent, he knew how to cut. McQueen, I often wonder how vivid his dreams must have been to produce such out-of-this-earth creations. Galliano, he’s a legend. He ticks all the boxes. Vision, craftsmanship, structure, cut. Every single one. But he’s also my personal favourite. Seeing him leave broke my heart.’

‘That must be such a powerful feeling, being able to bring someone back to life. I mean it is his life, after all.’ Harry sits down on one of the chairs in the back of the room, a pile of clothes perched on his knees.

‘I never looked at it that way. I’m just glad I found him a home again.’

Louis feels weird confessing this to Harry, and the praise sits heavy on top of it all. It’s unusual for Louis to be opening up to anyone, at all.

‘I’m glad you did,’ answers Harry, and they are back to being quiet again, rummaging around.

The owner recognizes Louis, because anyone remotely interested in fashion learned his name as soon as he took over the helm, and she lets them roam around the room in peace, occasionally providing them with a short story of how she got the item they are currently examining. Louis ends up buying a whole array of shoes from the twenties, mostly Schiaparelli and Ferragamo. He is not sure if he’s going to end up reselling or displaying them in his office, or maybe even sneaking them into one of the shoots, but he’s thrilled, feeling like he’s not just buying an article of clothing, but also a story that comes with it, an exquisite work of art.

Harry decides to buy a calf-length Lanvin coat with a slim belt in salmon pink, posing in the middle of the shop for Louis. It’s a women’s coat, the cut slimming in the waist with the belt and the length a clear indicator it’s from the 20’s. The fabric is gentle, probably a blend of cashmere and wool, and when it falls it forms a tulip shape.

‘You’re quite brave.’ The words are out before Louis even realizes what is happening, and Harry turns around from ogling himself in the mirror and quirks an eyebrow.

Oh well. Since he dug this hole, he might as well jump in it.

‘I don’t mean in a loud way, or an obnoxious way. Since I started working in publishing, I’ve always had this idea that we should feature brave people - in our field, from other fields connected to fashion or someone completely unrelated to fashion transformed style-wise so they fit what we sell, but still are able to portray themselves clearly and send a message. So I’ve seen dozens of people who are brave, Harry. They always have some common traits, they are fierce and restless, persevering. Some speak a lot, some don’t and it’s never about words, they are just the subtitles of their actions. Those people have an aura around them, and they mostly don’t realize it and it’s magnetic and you can’t keep away. The world is filled with ordinary people, mediocre people, those who have given up, those who just pass through it without noticing the colors around them. And then there’s the brave ones, and they live, they truly live. And what’s even more important, they don’t keep it for themselves. They always pass it on, sometimes to just a certain someone and from time to time to thousands. What I’m saying here, Harry, is that you’re brave. And I don’t know how I know that, but I rarely make mistakes about this.’

He keeps his eyes locked on the younger man, watching his reaction as the words pour out of him like a tidal wave.

Harry takes a vast gulp of air, and just mouths a quiet ‘Thank you’. He steps forward, as if he’s gonna reach out and hug Louis but stops himself at the last moment, merely standing in front of Louis.

‘Thank you.’

It echoes, like the first thank you wasn’t enough, and Harry’s eyes are so round, feelings written in the tiny lines of his irises as if no 'thank you' will ever be enough.

‘Nothing to thank me for. I’m just stating the truth, Harry.’ Louis’ voice is giving away how much he means it.

Louis is slowly getting comfortable with the unusual way he talks with Harry, occasionally rambling and the words mostly pouring out of his mouth without him possessing any self control. It’s not complicated, or controlled. Their conversations flow like Etro silk on the runway and he has an outstanding feeling of knowing Harry. He may not know his life story, but he can already tell what the man is feeling by reading it in his eyes or the way he moves.

Louis turns around after that, satisfied that he doesn’t have to add more and with the way Harry lets him dive in and out of the conversation like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

They gather up their finds, leaving a small fortune at the cash register and hop into the car, making their way back to the city.

There’s two shows left to see, and they split at the entrance, each guided to their respective seats, Louis greeted by a smirking Zayn and Harry finding Niall waiting for him with a wide smile.

Elie Saab is a spectacle, as it always is. Lace, beads and sequins gracing floor-length dresses inspired with innocence and airiness. Louis closes his eyes for a while when repetitiveness strikes the runway, and in his mind he goes over what’s left on his agenda for today.

At the end of the show he’s quickly out the door, sitting in L’Avenue with Zayn across from him in no time, because sometimes they are snobbish like that. And it’s nothing if not expected for them to pick the poshest, most exclusive restaurant for their in-between-shows gap. Kim and Kanye are two tables to their right, and there is a horde of paparazzi outside.

He’s not completely focused on his surroundings, the food and the people around him secondary to Zayn fighting him over his second editorial spread.

Louis tries to remember when the last time was that Zayn was okay with letting a photo he liked go, or the last time he didn’t press on keeping the editorial in the same order and length he imagined it.

The thing with Zayn is, he’s as passionate as Louis, and that’s what makes them so successful at the end of the day. When they lose their voices from arguing and Louis eventually listens to his gut and not to Zayn.

He remembers when they just started at Vogue and he cut four shots from a twelve-page spread because it wasn’t reading well and Zayn didn’t talk to him for days. It went on for so long Louis had to succumb to getting a purple metallic Proenza Schouler PS11 bag for him.

Zayn’s input is a steady presence in Louis’ directive process, even after all these years. Going over glitches together is how they started when one of them had a creative block in the early days and they’ve never abandoned it since.

Sabine is sitting with them, scribbling furiously in her Moleskine leather notebook while Louis fires remarks in her direction. Neither of them really touches their food, and they’re off before they've managed to finish, Zayn slipping into the venue for Gaultier’s show fifteen minutes prior to start, like clockwork.

Louis leaves Zayn to fend for himself for the rest of the day, skipping Gaultier and going back to The Ritz. He’s still working, an array of Apple gadgets scattered about on his vast bed, when Sabine walks in and immediately upon lifting his head the surrounding darkness hits him, the only light in the room coming from his laptop screen.

It’s 7pm. And he’s been working for hours without a break. Old habits die hard.

Louis cracks his knuckles while Sabine eyes him warily. He could swear underneath all that perfectionism, there’s a sassy queen living inside her.

He makes a mental note to get her a monogrammed LV when they get back for her efforts.

‘Your itinerary lists one other thing today. The Saab store opening; you accepted their invitation a few weeks ago.’

‘Despite it looking like Il struggle as a human, I still read your emails Sabine. I know my schedule.’

Sabine’s not the only one with hidden sass.

‘Let’s see which wonder I can model tonight. Something to show off my fabulous ass, Sabine. That’s tonight’s motto. Get me hair and make up in ten, yeah?’

‘I’m glad you’re having a good day today, Louis.’ Sabine leaves the room after that, and Louis is puzzled but doesn’t question it, opening his closet doors and picking a suit for the evening.

Tom Ford. Yes, that will do.

When Sabine comes back to the room ten minutes later, he’s putting on his Tom Ford silver loafers. Because Tom only ever goes with Tom. Tom’s feisty like that.

‘Not bad huh?’

Popping his right hip, he squeezes his waist with both hands and pouts his lips. The suit is sharp, pants cut so his legs look longer, the black fabric falling perfectly around his legs. The jacket is a masterpiece with black lapels forming a stark contrast to the reflecting silver seashell print. When he closes the button his waist looks obscenely thin opposed to his full hips, like an hourglass. Louis opts for a black butterfly bow tie with rich silver embroidery on the wings and puts on an all black Larsson & Jennings watch for good measure.

 _(Louis' look:[suit ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/1ded8eaa7ba436185f9fa41b2c3dd42c/tumblr_nslmkzTWdY1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [bow tie ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/cb605dafbeebfe8bd6ef203cbbfba214/tumblr_nslmn3plRt1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [shoes ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0bc23a69c62de6bd62a93f607fbf8ed5/tumblr_inline_nslmifUPYf1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [watch](https://41.media.tumblr.com/cbaf7acd423a41e351d90615e31e226f/tumblr_inline_nslmitzQ4p1sf1zml_540.png))_  

‘Dashing, if I might say.’

‘Thanks. Now chop chop, there’s a Saab waiting to be worn in your room. Don’t rip it, make someone help you.’

She’s off like lightning, and Louis pats himself on the back for remembering to phone Jessica, his second assistant, to get the dress for Sabine straight from the heaven that is Elie Saab’s PR department.

He knocks on Zayn’s door when he’s done and as his best friend doesn’t see fit to answer, he lets himself in. Zayn being late is a law of nature.

He finds the man in question combing his hair on the side, standing in front of a large mirror.

The room Zayn is staying at is laid out the same as Louis’, only smaller. The key difference are the sketches thrown everywhere around Zayn’s room: ball gowns and flowers drawn out in black charcoal.

Louis checks him out from the back. He’s wearing full-on tartan in rich beige and red with thick black trimming. Zayn’s a rebel like that.

When he turns around, he shoots Louis a blinding smile. ‘I’m feeling McQueen-y.’

Opening his arms he twirls once. It’s ridiculous how fucking good he looks.

After a few more combs that leave his hair looking polished, Zayn nudges Louis to get moving, looping his arm around his friend’s.

‘Now let’s get to drinking.’

The shop’s door are wide open, a stream of people coming in and out. It’s spacious but not big by any standards, the dresses placed on mannequins in the corners of the room so no silk-ripping tragedies occur when the champagne kicks in. The tiles are more like big chunks of marble in vanilla with swirls in reddish tones giving them life. The whole space breathes exclusivity, with white and black the main focus of the interior and gold popping here and there to boost it a bit. The party is filled with A-list celebrities and models who are in town for alta moda, and Zayn makes it his mission to win over a male star from a movie Louis can’t remember the name of.

Zayn has his phases when it comes to men, one spring dating only dentists. In the last couple of weeks, he focus has been solely on actors, and he’s got two in New York wrapped around his little finger already.

He doesn’t let Louis wander the shop alone, instead sticking to his best friend’s side, saying 'hi' to everyone and congratulating Elie Saab, all topped with one, two, three flutes of champagne.

It’s not long before they bump into a blonde mop of hair.

Completely by accident, of course. Zayn would never.

‘Aren’t you a vision.’ The sound sends shivers to Louis’ spine and he turns to his right to find Harry leaning against the wall in between two sets of golden racks lined with pastel colored dresses and fur coats.

‘It’s all Tom. I’m just the canvas on which he paints to show the world his vision.’

‘Oh, it’s all you.’

Harry looks very James Bond-esque, dressed neatly in a dark purple suit with a cotton shirt underneath that’s hanging low on the hem. His fingers are pressing against a hefty, round glass and his eyes are framed with spectacles. He’s even got the smirk going on. Maybe it’s the suit’s influence, or maybe, just maybe Harry’s a cheeky little fellow.

Louis would quite like to ravish him.

He lets out a non-committal hum, and Harry doesn’t press, letting Louis drop it the same way he did before. Instead, Harry just smiles, and it’s sweet, but still on the cheeky side of things.

After a few agonizing minutes where Louis is not quite sure what to do with his hands or where to look, he soon gets a drink of his own.

Yes, Tomlinson, because alcohol is always the answer.

Soon he’s hot, people around him stealing his oxygen, and Harry’s solid next to him, Niall and Liam running the conversation and the four of them chatting the night away, Zayn already disappeared on his man-quest.

Louis' eyes dart for the nearest exit a few times during the evening, his normal curfew long overdue.  He stays anyway.

Downing a few glasses of scotch makes you laugh freely. Where did he even find scotch? Oops, he’s just hit Harry in the nose when explaining to Liam why monochrome is the opposite of boring. Liam has big, big muscles.

Big Liam. Big Harry. Strong Harry.

He tells them as much, and Niall’s doubling over with laughter.

‘Don’t cry, Neil! You’re not strong. But there is nothing wrong with being a chicken. Chickens have slender legs and look fabulous in long coats.’ Louis pats Niall’s arm.

‘Did you just call him a chicken?’

Ohhhhh, he forgot about Harry. He really is strong. But also very pretty, long and lean next to him.

‘Of course. Look at him! Legs better than chicken! Fly Neil, fly away! Like a bird!’

He looks at Harry expectantly, like Harry is a fool for not seeing what he’s seeing. Louis takes another swig of scotch.

‘You’re all peasants.’ Louis decides once he’s got his hand firmly placed on Harry’s hand.

Pat pat pat.

‘You’re the most entertaining drunk I’ve ever met, Louis.’ Harry is giggling.

Who’s drunk now.

‘Stop it, cat. You know, if we were in Japan, we would be singing karaoke right now. Japan loves cats.’ Louis pats Harry again. Harry’s alter ego is a cat.

Harry seems totally on board with the cat scenario. Louis can envision him moaning when getting his head scratched.

‘I cannot see who wouldn’t like you, either, Louis.’

Louis swats his finger at that, stomping his feet on the floor. He’s hot. Tom Ford makes some very warm jackets.

‘Ayyy, no emotional stuff now. Let’s do another one.’

His eyes roam around the room, looking for a waiter he can bribe to get him another scotch. Or tequila. Tequila is what you drink when life gives you Harry Styles.

Not one of the three boys looking at Louis can beg to differ.

\-----

Being hungover is a pain in the ass. Being hungover in Rome is just plain stupid.

Louis makes his flight just in time, and even though it’s barely an hour from Paris to Rome, he swipes his Conde Nast sponsored credit card so many times, even the flight attendants stopped hiding their amusement.

‘You've eaten a small bakery by now, Louis.’ Zayn’s voice is muffled by the window, the man’s body slumped against the wall of the plane.

‘Shut it. I’m never drinking again.’

‘At least it was with the cutie. He’s good for you.’

Zayn clearly does not understand the concept of not talking. Like at all.

‘I will strangle you. Or barf on you. Maybe both.’ Louis shoots him a look. ‘You’re one to talk, president of the sex addicts anonymous club.’

‘Stop being grumpy, idiot. At least in my club we have a 24/7 cock special.’

Louis needs a new creative director.

He’s making even himself feel irritated but he can’t help it, the alcohol still present in his bloodstream, his stomach a fucking mess. Sabine comes over to his seat uninvited and silently pushes a string of pills in his direction. Bless her soul. On top of that LV, Louis is getting her an Hermes scarf. For good measure.

They land with a thump after what seems like decades and the first thing Louis decides on arriving in Italy is a visit to the toilets.

What a day it is already.

Grateful the Valentino organisers were considerate enough to schedule the show for the evening, he lets Zayn manhandle his sorry ass into the car and they slowly fight through Rome’s busy streets, Louis’ head a dull ache against the cold window.

Residenza Torre Colonna hotel is to Rome what The Ritz is to Paris, every fashion editor currently mingling in the lobby, drinks in hands and fake smiles plastered on.

Apparently no one got hammered yesterday except for him. Either that, or they’re drunk so often they make a hangover go away by drinking away the pain. Louis doesn’t bother to ponder it. He’s still hungry.

He also hates summer with a passion, beads of sweat forming in his hairline and sliding across his forehead. He could swear he looks like he’s suffering from the plague.

His status makes everyone let him through and Sabine is checking them in, this time Zayn kipping in the room directly next to his.

Great. Louis gets to hear Zayn’s obscene sex noises tonight. 

‘Sleep.’ He cuts off Zayn’s blabbering as soon they reach the fifth floor and his hand grasps the door handle.

He doesn’t even bother sparing his friend a look, opening the door to another hotel room and in three long strides he’s sitting on the bed, taking off the shirt that’s sticking to his chest. He looks around, the room wide and cosy around him. It’s breathing typical Italian charm: a lot of heavy wooden furniture and golden details, with a huge balcony overlooking the hotel’s garden.

Louis is dead to the world as soon as his head hits the pillow.

His dreams are filled with colorful glasses topped up with tequila sunrise and Harry’s huge hands holding his ass while pink lips mark his neck and he’s panting heavily. It’s been a while since his dreams have been filled with sex and when he drifts out of it, his cock is straining heavily in his cotton boxers. The sheets are sticking to his back even with the air conditioning blasting.

Fuck, he hasn’t jerked off to a pure fantasy in a while.

Louis closes his eyes again, his eyelids firmly shut and brow furrowed in concentration. He places his hand on his right nipple, running it through his fingers. One, two, three twists and it’s fully firm and perky under the touch, completely sensitive. Holy shit, it’s like tasting French macarons for the first time after ages and he can’t get enough of it, dragging his hand in between his pecs and repeating the process, even slower on the other one. He can feel a shiver travelling from the top of his spine straight into his cock and there’s a heavy load of pre-come visible on the white cotton. The image of Harry’s naked torso straddling his lap flashes through his fuzzy thoughts. His hand travels down across his ribs and he stops to squeeze his waist a bit, pressure building up in his lower abdomen. He still hasn’t touched his cock, and it’s driving him crazy.

Beneath his closed eyelids Harry’s clad in jeans only and his firm ass is pressing against Louis’ dick while he slowly makes circles with his hips, as if he was dancing. Louis’ lower lip is caught in between his teeth and he can taste a drop of blood on his tongue from how firm he’s been holding onto it. Like it’s life support. He knows he can’t prolong this but regardless he craves riding this torture for as long as his body lets him. He takes his cock in his hand, fingers smearing the pre-come around the head. He spits in the other hand for good measure, and switches so his left one is now twisting his cock agonizingly slow while his right is pinching his nipples. Harry’s there in his thoughts and the way it makes him feel is beautiful. He pumps slowly, every few seconds stopping to let his fingers roam his body, the feeling of his fingertips like feathers on his naked skin. It pains him how good it feels, and he knows just how to squeeze at the top, and drag his fingers on the underside of his cock while thinking of Harry’s tongue doing the same and it’s over and he’s on cloud nine, shooting a heavy load all the way to his collar bones.

Half an hour later, he goes for round two, sitting down in front of a full-sized mirror. When he’s done, he realizes he hasn’t felt this at ease in ages.

Two hours later, he’s debating hair styles for the upcoming show.

He skipped on an afternoon of history lessons by Valentino, and judging by the constant buzzing of his phone on the nightstand, it’s been a rather enjoyable one.

Zayn’s been texting him photo after photo of the exhibition of Valentino’s couture dresses from previous seasons hidden in closed-to-the-public places all over the city, a tour of the House of Valentino organised for everyone invited to the show tonight as a way of celebrating the quarter of a decade of Valentino's legacy.

His best friend is like a squirrel on steroids, one heart eyes emoji too much approximately two hours ago. Or just as the tour started.

‘You would love this, Lou.’

Photos from Biblioteca Casanatense, a public library lined with thousands of books that look exquisite. Louis’ mind is a whirlwind of ideas and with the next ping of his iPhone, he registers how in tune Zayn and he really are, his best friend expressing exactly what’s on his mind, too.

‘Wanna shoot here. Valentino from tonight.’

Another photo of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase in rich burgundy-colored wood with gold ornaments comes in and Louis knows he’s already giving in to Zayn’s idea. Or his idea. Both of theirs.

He’s already calculating the budget in his head, and not long after, he gets Sabine to get him Maria Grazia Chiuri, the woman behind tonight’s affair, on the line. She picks up after the first ring, a clear sign of what a powerful figure Louis is. He can picture her and her partner in crime, Pierpaolo Piccioli, furiously scrambling up to finish the last minute preparations for the show that’s scheduled to happen in no time, and ditching everything to answer his call. Feels kind of good.

Louis bothers her only a little, leaving the business proposition for after the show, merely hinting at what’s at stake.

As soon as he’s hung up on Maria, bidding her goodbye with a promise to chat later, his phone vibrates with another message from Zayn.

‘Fuck me. Fuck I want someone to fuck me here.’

Zayn accompanies the text with a photo of a marble bath, sending an explanation in the form of ‘From 1840, in a palazzo that’s still in private hands.’

‘I need to re-awaken as the Rome rich boy from the nineteenth century.’

Louis laughs at the last one, imagining Zayn’s cheekbones in a historic Italian setting. He’d probably rule them all.

He tosses his phone back on the nightstand, and Sabine is barging in the room with hair and make up stylists in tow.

‘I’ve got everyone’s looks from today here, Louis.’ She hands him her iPhone, already displaying Zayn posing in a lime green suit with tiny neon clovers printed neatly all over. The camo print T-shirt is dark blue and black, a size too big for him, and he's tucked up the front into the trousers. His waist is bound to draw eyes, looking delicate yet racy. He’s got a black scarf tied in his hair, the knot at the back of his head and the silk falling down his back. On his feet are calfskin monk shoes with a thick rubber sole.

Louis smiles to himself. If Zayn was a shoe, he’d be a monk shoe. A very sexy monk shoe. **  
**

_(Zayn's look:[shirt](https://41.media.tumblr.com/dba247ecd0c277eabf315854702d1b25/tumblr_nslmzamOxk1tawb72o1_400.jpg) / [pants](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a305ada58218a321fc94dabf40bed8ae/tumblr_inline_nslmz4pSnc1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a2530cc4206f8e51cbf8ea460a7ccd19/tumblr_inline_nslmyrdPLm1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

He knew Zayn would go mental for Valentino, and he isn’t surprised to see him looking this sharp.

So naturally, Louis wants to outdo him. And everyone else.

He swipes through the photos, checking to make sure he doesn’t see a familiar print somewhere in the crowds.

‘Alright boys, let’s do a cinnamon swirl. I also want the hair a bit lighter, caramel. No coloring, just temporary.’ He turns towards the two men who were till now standing at his bed, barely moving and definitely not making a noise.

‘Doll me up like one of your French girls!’

Florence is blasting through the speakers.

‘And Sabine, I need those sunglasses Rihanna’s wearing in the Dior campaign. In silver. Let’s move it.’

\----

Piazza Mignanelli is filled to the brim with people, sun just about to set and locals hanging out of windows to catch a glimpse of the extravaganza that’s about to unfold. Stone-covered paths in the square have been covered with a wooden makeshift runway and there’s seats placed irregularly all over the place.

It’s a perfect setting for Louis’ dark butterfly print suit. He’s wearing a black tank top underneath the blazer, the scoop neck running so low it’s not even showing when he closes the button of the jacket. The pants run a bit on the tight side, falling perfectly and he looks like a vision, the blue bringing out his eyes.

_(Louis' look:[suit 1](https://41.media.tumblr.com/028bc71e4b4c85a3b59f2368edd40366/tumblr_nsln58gVrv1tawb72o1_400.jpg) / [2](https://40.media.tumblr.com/dbb00ae5762409680e11a1401be4c7af/tumblr_nsln5oXdMx1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

One of the PR girls dressed in black from head to toe takes him to his seat, but seeing Zayn isn’t lounging where he is supposed to be seated yet, he crosses the runway, spotting a familiar face.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me, Styles.’

Louis’ eyes are locked to Harry’s boots. Heeled boots. Women’s boots. They’re black leather with white and flowers sewn onto them.

After he’s not met with an answer for a few seconds, he lifts his head, lips quirked in amusement. Harry’s just looking at him, and Louis can read lust written all over his face.

‘You look… breathtaking.’ Harry’s voice is strained. He hasn’t blinked in the last minute.

Louis knows he looks good. But Harry’s looking at him like he’s exceptional. The realization makes him swallow hard.

‘Oh, hey Louis.’ Liam stops in his tracks, a bottle of water in his hand. He looks dapper in all black, and if Louis didn’t know Harry existed, he would have his paws all over him.

‘Hello.’ His eyes wander over Louis’ body.

‘Came here to start a game of badminton, Liam?’

Liam’s laugh is sincere, irregular. Louis can’t bother to mind his presence, even when he's clearly not supposed to be sitting front row, not when Liam’s funny and self-conscious, completely in tune with how out of tune he is with this crowd.

‘My role here today seems to be to drop cold water over Harry’s head.’ To prove his point, Liam snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s dreamed out expression.

Harry’s visibly shaken, his eyes still not focussed, and both Liam and Louis are aware he’s not following a word they’re saying.

He’s just, well, staring.

Louis wants to feed him bananas for strength. And then ravish him.

‘A million girls would kill for your job, Liam.’ Louis pulls his face into a grimace, teeth on display. ‘And for your front row seat.’ He winks, patting Liam on the arm. ‘Now help me to get Harold back to Earth.’

‘Heeeeeey,’ drawls Harry, and he’s smiling fondly, like this is all good fun and totally casual.

Louis wants to slap him. On the ass. While he’s bent over on his bed, naked.

‘What is that,’ Louis bats his finger to the floor where Harry’s feet are clasped together, ‘on your feet?’

‘It’s Valentino.’

‘As if you’re not a big enough giant without a 4 inch heel?’ Louis can’t believe him. ‘Don’t even bother answering. I’m running out of time trying to figure out this strange brain of yours.’

Harry’s beaming more with each word that comes out of Louis’ mouth.

Liam’s not even with them anymore.

‘I was actually thinking about featuring you some more on our Instagram. That post went really well.’

When the office sent in the stats from the day he put Harry’s Chanel look up for the world to see, Louis made Sabine triple check if he had the right numbers. Niall’s, Harry’s and his Instagram posts were widely shared on basically every platform, the traffic pouring to Vogue.com. Louis would be a fool not to experiment further with it.

‘I’ve actually gained around twenty thousand followers.’

His face is proud, and Louis can’t but laugh a bit at how happy miniscule things make Harry.

‘Can I get a snap of your boots first? And then the whole outfit?’ Louis gets ready by opening up the camera on his phone, and he gets to business before Harry has time to respond. ‘I’m guessing that’s Valentino you’re wearing?’

‘2013, yeah. Needed something timid so the boots would pop!’ He makes a point of pronouncing the last p obscenely, like he’s done sucking a lollipop or starring in a porn movie.

He’s not wrong. The outfit is a complete opposite to his loud ventures from the last couple of days. The shirt he’s wearing is stiff and white, and he’s thrown over a khaki blazer that’s just sitting on his shoulders, sleeves hanging on the sides. His tattooed arms work nicely with the overall demure vibe. The shorts he’s thrown on dismantle the preppy image completely, his long legs prolonged by the heeled booties and flowers on his feet.

Louis is impressed.

 _(Harry's look:[shirt and blazer ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/28d720d3e1b9dfbe56bf3f7dc5ab4911/tumblr_nslnf2w0TU1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shorts ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ea903acffbeeeff610f07fb7ad3a3b3f/tumblr_ns2b0iwq0R1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [boots](https://41.media.tumblr.com/52f785f063f21833bd047cfc64d940f0/tumblr_inline_nslndvwA251sf1zml_540.jpg))_ **  
**

 Bidding Harry goodbye with a promise to see him at the afterparty, he quickly uploads the photo of Harry’s boots.

‘Daring. @harrystyles #valentino #hautecouture’

Sitting down next to Zayn, he takes another shot, this time of his own shoes, also Valentino’s women line, just missing the heel.

‘My take. #valentino #hautecouture’

_(Louis' look:[shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d3c6ec1800ae5e76cf7de18e5ae379ed/tumblr_nslni8tSyL1tawb72o1_400.jpg))_

The notification stream is relentless, his phone vibrating constantly throughout the show. The atmosphere is quite overwhelming, with a plethora of looks celebrating the history of the city and Italian culture. It’s an ode to the heritage of the House of Valentino, and when it’s time for the designer duo to take a customary bow the whole piazza is on their feet, the applause piercing in the hot summer night.

Louis hooks his arm around Zayn’s waist, making their way to the after party, and when Liam and Harry join them in step he doesn’t mind one bit, running on a high from knowing they’ve successfully survived two cities and the whole week of alta moda.

They’re greeted by loud music and the huge open space of the Villa Aurelia. The scene is right from a fairy tale and it gets even better when Niall materializes on the small hill where the DJ booth has been set up, his blonde hair and contagious smile visible for miles.

The waiters are ever present, bringing in a steady stream of fruity drinks that taste too good and the four of them are tipsy before they know it.

People are strewn over the paths dividing the vast grass area, chatting and swaying to the beat of music.

**  
**

Louis leaves mingling for some other occasion as soon as he gets the go ahead from Maria about shooting the just-shown collection for an additional feature in the September issue, and just keeps close to the three other boys on a patch of grass they claimed as theirs, commenting on the outfits of figures passing through and sipping their drinks, switching the color and taste after each round.

And when Niall rings in the new day with his massive music finale and fireworks paint the sky in greens and reds, much like the flowers on Harry’s boots, nobody discounts Zayn’s idea for them to continue the party in one of their apartments in the hotel, far away from possible humiliation and bad photos.

They are soon sprawled across the sofas in Niall’s over-the-top suite, a room painted in hues of beige that Valentino provided for Niall for the following week as a thank you for playing the after party.

The windows that serve as a whole wall facing the garden and the balcony are wide open, and each of the men is looking relaxed, with a cigarette in hand.

Niall’s brought over a plush chair from the other room so it’s Zayn and Liam sharing the main sofa, and Harry’s left side glued to Louis’ right on the loveseat.

The game is 'never have I ever'.

It starts coy enough, with Niall proclaiming he’s never kissed a boy, making him the only one not drinking. They’ve all taken up vodka for starters, Liam and Louis mixing it with red bull, Harry going overboard with a white russian and Zayn and Niall keeping it low key with juice.

They all smirk and move on to Zayn, and he throws in a ‘Never have I ever gone commando to work’. Harry and Louis clink their glasses when they realize the rest of the men are looking at them expectantly. They’re in fits of giggles, and it’s only first round.

‘Never have I ever cheated on the person I was dating’ is Liam's line and he keeps his hands to his lap. So does Harry.

Harry’s gaze is piercing when Louis takes a large sip, but he lets it go as soon as it’s his turn and he’s the one laying down the challenge.

‘Never have I ever been with anyone younger than me.’

Everyone except Harry drinks and they are laughing at him, jokes about missing on life thrown into the conversation.

It’s Louis’ turn and he spices it up with ‘never getting off at the movies’ and he’s so proud of himself, sure Harry’s going to drink to that one, but he ends up being the only one raising his glass and Harry’s pinching his waist playfully.

It’s all sex questions after that, each more daring than the previous one.

‘In public.’ They all drink to that one, Niall the only exception.

Harry’s on his feet and jumping on top of Niall, his huge form covering Niall’s body completely and he’s hugging him fiercely, patting his hair and murmuring about how it’s all gonna be alright.

‘Come back Harold, I haven’t found out about any of your sex fantasies yet.’

Harold. This vodka’s kicking his ass hard.

Harry joins Liam in not drinking when faced with a question about threesomes so Louis pushes further, asking the question about foursomes. Turns out Zayn and he have more experience than the others, the only ones gulping down what’s left in their glasses.

Louis lost count a few rounds ago and his mind is in a fuzzy state, Harry a nice presence next to him. He drinks in every reaction he gets out of Harry, and he feels special and warm, a cigarette pumping a calming effect into his bloodstream.

‘Never have I ever been tied up in bed.’ And it’s Louis and surprise, surprise, Niall tipping their glasses this time.

Harry’s visibly affected by this one, turning in his seat to watch Louis swallow his drink. Louis could swear his eyes are two shades darker but he doesn’t give it much thought, his brain not able to concentrate on anything for more than a few ticks of the clock.

They swerve a bit when one of them can’t remember an interesting question, confessing about drugs they’ve tried and money they’ve been offered in the industry, but they’re back on track soon and once the inspiration strikes they’re firing off questions in rapid speed.

‘Never have I ever been walked in on by parents.’

‘Never have I ever had an STD.’ They all move away from Niall jokingly when he drinks.

‘‘Never have I ever had sex at work.’ Harry tilts his head innocently and swallows the white liquid, his glass empty again.

Louis refrains from commenting.

‘Never have I ever done the walk of shame.’

‘Never have I ever made a sex tape,’ dares Niall to which Liam smirks, knocking his glass against the table and taking a swig. ‘You should.’

‘Never have I ever called someone the wrong name while doing it.'

‘Never have I ever done a 69.’

Niall yells at Harry when he’s the only one not drinking about life's injustices and taking all of Harry’s exes to court. ‘I’m straight and I know how important this is!’

Louis could teach Harry about all the wonders of 69. And 74. Also 125.

It’s the most fun Louis has had in what seems like centuries and he doesn’t even register Zayn falling asleep on the sofa next to Liam as they keep playing, none of them bored or drunk enough to put an end to it.

They call it a night around 5am when Louis is curled up like a pretzel next to Harry, the man next to him barely able to keep his eyes open. They’ve stopped playing a glass ago, and Red Bull’s keeping Louis’ heart thumping loud in his chest. He’s explaining to Harry how he’s his favourite Harry after Harry Potter and they’re debating which subject would be their favourite at Hogwarts.

Zayn’s long gone, having left to catch some sleep in his room, and Niall and Liam are making out on the floor, a habit they apparently picked up some time ago whenever they’re wasted, as Harry explains to Louis. They paint a pretty picture, Niall currently sitting on Liam’s lap so his legs are thrown over the right side of the chair, Liam’s hand curled up in Niall’s hair. It’s not heated and Louis doesn’t mind.  He finds it cute and superficial, like they’re just killing time with their tongues tangled.

When Harry’s eyes get droopy, Louis nudges him and they get up, hoisting Liam up by his armpits, and say quiet good nights as they split to get to their respective rooms.

Opening the door to his room, Louis finds Zayn's limp body on his bed. He’s still fully dressed, apparently having just enough energy to drag himself to the nearest room but not even climb under the covers.

On any given day Louis would join him, make Zayn undress and cuddle him. But his mind is a silent buzz of Harry on  loop and he can’t stop himself from digging his phone from his pocket.

He should text Harry.

‘What the fuck am I doing, Zaynie?’ He’s tired and he has the flight to New York to catch in a few hours.

But he really wants a cuddle.

'If I text him, he will think I’m stupid. If I don’t, I’m stupid.’ Louis lays his soul bare, his friend’s quiet snores the only response he gets. ‘He’s so big and fucking gorgeous, I just want him to hold me.’

He just really, really needs a cuddle.

Zayn’s non-committal silent breaths leave his mouth and Louis takes that as encouragement, pacing around the room.

He opens up iMessage and types out a short text, pressing send before he is able to change his mind.

‘Zayn’s passed out in my bed. Can I come sleep at yours?’

‘What have you made me do?’ Louis looks up. ‘I’m gonna kill you Zayn. This is all your fault.’

He looks at the screen. Nothing.

‘Who goes to sleep in the wrong room?’

No notifications.

‘Why didn’t you tell me to go sleep in your room Zayn?’

It’s been two minutes.

‘I’m gonna take up martial arts when we are back in New York just so I can kick your bony ass.’

His screen lights up.

‘Sure. 2272, gimme five minutes.’

Louis jumps out of his chair, his hands tangling in his hair. He pulls a bit to see if he’s really awake.

‘Fucking shit fucker.’ One foot in front of the other, he turns in place. ‘I’m really doing this.’

Trying to gain control of his limbs, he commands himself to go over to Zayn just to murmur in his hair. ‘Just so you know, I’m not gonna sleep with him. It’s cuddles. Nothing wrong with cuddles.’

Cuddles are good.

He gets rid of his clothes, taking out a pair of soft Oliver Spencer pajama pants that look more like joggers and hug his ass perfectly. He finds a black tanktop after opening all the drawers in the hotel room, the tight fit making it difficult to put on.

Brushing his teeth and splashing his face, he’s out the door with nothing but his iPhone.

He stops every few steps for good measure.

‘Am I really doing this?’ It comes louder than he thought he would.

The door to Harry’s room is slightly open and he pushes it with his fingers, his bare feet tapping on the floor.

‘Hi.’

‘Ummm hi.’

Well this is awkward. High school level of awkward.

There’s a candle lit on Harry’s nightstand casting long shadows across the walls and Harry’s just standing there in his boxers and a white T shirt, staring.

He looks like Tarzan, and a model. Louis wants to crawl under his skin and stay there so he can be close to him all the time. He also wants to fuck his brains out and make him pant until the sun rises. He’s scared, though, of something he hasn’t felt in ages nesting in his chest.

The adult he is, Louis completely avoids talking and walks over to plug his phone on the side of the king size bed, and sets his alarm for three hours before his plane is scheduled to leave.

Harry’s body is turned towards him, but his feet are still facing the other direction, and he looks both hot and like a lost boy. Louis wants to ride his dick like a cowboy, and have his babies.

He pushes all those thoughts away and smiles coyly, tucking himself under the covers.

And yes, Louis actually plans on just sleeping. And if that isn’t the plot twist of the fucking century, Harry doesn’t know what is.  

‘You coming?’

Harry shakes his head slightly and goes over to the candle, blowing it and casting the room in darkness. He makes quick work of walking over to his side of the bed and Louis can feel the bed dip when he lays down next to him.

‘You can hug me, you know.’

The only answer he gets from Harry is a silent outburst of air, clear in the silent room, and then Harry is shuffling closer, his arm sneaking around Louis and resting on his hip.

His body is pressed firmly against Louis from his shoulder all the way across his torso, albeit he makes a point of keeping his crotch far so Louis can’t feel any pressure on his lower half until Harry sneaks his foot in between his calves and leaves it there.

He does it in small steps, one movement separated by a few seconds from the other, as if Harry’s somehow scared or unsure of how far he can go or where to place his hand, like he’s not sure what of Louis’ body he can take and what’s off limits.

Louis goes boneless, tipping his head back so he can feel Harry’s breath on the nape of his neck.

It would take Harry a tiny drag of his head on the pillow to kiss him.

They are silent, and Harry’s moving his hand slowly from Louis waist to his hip rhythmically.

The alcohol is long lost from their system and they are both aware of how conscious this decision to climb together in bed was.

Neither of them catches any rest, both drifting off to sleep shortly and then waking up, switching positions so Harry’s on his back and Louis fits himself on his chest, in between the shoulder and the ribcage on Harry’s right side, Harry’s hand rubbing circles against Louis’ scalp, or Louis tucking his nose in the crook of Harry’s neck when Harry’s laying on his tummy and Louis follow suit, shifting as close as possible, drawing incomprehensible shapes in between Harry’s shoulder blades.

When Louis’ alarm clock wakes them up four hours later, Louis’ face is inches away from Harry’s, their bodies aligned so they are facing each other.

Harry is grumpy about being woken, and he pulls Louis in, his arm moulding itself in the depth of Louis’ waist.

‘You don’t need to be anywhere today.’ He draws out, and there’s a hint of morning breath when he exhales.

Louis desperately wants to kiss him.

‘Plane to New York in three hours.’

‘Fuck.’ He blinks his eyes open, and there’s uncertainty there. Louis is not ready to deal with that just yet.

‘A few more minutes.’ And he turns around, so his back is glued to Harry’s front and they drift off for a while there.

Sabine kills his dreams of ditching reality. He hangs up on her.

They both grumble, and turn around, shifting so they are both looking at the ceiling. It’s a boring white color, and the room is still dark, the blinds drawn shut.

‘So you’ve been tied up in bed.’

The first thing Harry says to him after the weirdest night of his life is, of course, about kinks.

Weird after weird. It’s only fitting.

‘Yeah.’

‘Was it a guy or a girl?’

‘I don’t have sex with girls, Harry.’

Harry stays silent after that, his hand catching Louis’ in between their bodies for just a split of a second and then he lets go closing his eyes.

‘Mhm.’

He’s silent for a while and then he turns his head so he’s facing Louis, and he draws out a silent, barely there question. ‘Why did you come here, Louis?’

‘I wanted cuddles.’

Harry doesn’t press it, and Louis doesn’t open his mouth again, not sure what he’s more surprised by, the fact he came to Harry’s room yesterday or that he answered the question so honestly.

Louis’ phone rings again, and he’s almost grateful for a way out of this. Whatever this is.

He untangles himself from the sheets, and with tiny movements gets up, trying to be silent, not to complicate this any more.

‘Bye Harry.’ He throws carefully to where Harry’s still sprawled on the bed, unmoving. He looks peaceful like that.

Louis still wants to kiss him. Instead he picks up his phone and bolts out of the door.

New York can’t come soon enough.


	3. New York

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, for all the comments and joy you bring me. I hope it's still okayish.

‘Was sorta hoping that you’d stay.’

The last thing Louis reads before jumping on a plane is Harry’s text, because how could he not open it when Harry’s name flashes on his screen. It makes his stomach do a loop de loop, and the whole way to the airport he’s toying with the idea that maybe, just maybe, he should turn around.

Even though he had barely half an hour to get ready and get moving, more than half of which was spent pacing up and down his room thinking of Harry still barely awake where he left him in his room, he’s still managed to look sharp. The Neil Barrett black trousers have a felt side stripe lining on the outsides of the leg and he’s paired them with a lightweight Acne sweater that says ‘Gender Equality’ written in bold, white letters across the torso. He’s tired and cranky and in Louis Tomlinson's world that means sneakers: Valentino leather low tops that have a green stripe across the vamp. He’s smart not to wear any accessories to the airport so there’s only a Proenza Schouler PS1 XL backpack slung over his left shoulder.

_(Louis' look:[sweater](https://40.media.tumblr.com/05c3ed00f97fee3cf7d1a8cdc8db161b/tumblr_nss5xiyRX21tawb72o1_500.jpg) / [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/28740586651e4db953bd9aefa76f4a9e/tumblr_inline_nss5x2MdB51sf1zml_540.jpg) / [sneakers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/bc720299f082bc5a6b75fbe10d55d68a/tumblr_inline_nss5wtqVOZ1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [backpack](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4878ec0966d567b365a34cd540e1f11e/tumblr_inline_nss5xdqpd01sf1zml_540.jpg))_

As soon as he’s on the airport ground, he hurries in to avoid the humidity and heat and he doesn’t spare Harry another thought after that, making quick work of checking in and grabbing a coffee in the first class lounge before boarding the plane.

There’s no one to entertain him on the 9 hour flight, Sabine having flown back earlier to get New York in order for him to come back to. But she’s usually no fun, given Louis is the ultimate boss and everything that it brings. Zayn’s still sleeping in Rome, as Louis granted him two more days in the city for the Valentino feature, having slightly bent the schedule of the closing date for the issue, which was initially set for July 1.

He’s left to his own thoughts and his gold Mac, but neither are of much help as the clouds change shapes in the sky.

So he lets his brain work on overload. The only topic of interest - Harry Styles.

He never thought he would meet someone like Harry, let alone like this, the man waltzing in with a permanent smile and seemingly without a single care in the world.

Louis knows Harry’s not just a pretty face or a socialite. He’s shamelessly young to be running GQ, the editor they let go to hire Harry being at the helm for almost a decade at the time. He’s a free spirit and has a slightly utopistic view of the world, but Louis can tell Harry’s made of layers and layers and he’s just scratched the surface.

Harry’s the opposite of him in more ways than he can count.

It bothers Louis how much Harry makes him abandon the rules he’s been following for years now. He wishes he could simply untangle himself and walk away from this mess that is his life whenever Harry is around and be done with it. Maybe he’ll think better, or work better, or live better. The problem is that he knows how much of a lie the last one is, and that’s why he doesn’t even try.

Instead, he pushes the thoughts of the curly haired man to the back of his mind and roams around the Proenza backpack, his new favourite, until he finds Haruki Murakami’s book titled ‘Norwegian Wood’, his old favourite.

He gets lost in Naoko’s emotional rollercoaster, and he’s calm for the remainder of the flight, the familiar words pulling him in and lulling him to a sense of security he can sometimes only feel with things that are familiar and well-known to him.

As he disembarksc the plane, the stairs creaking under his feet and New York’s summer air brushing his face, he realizes that the trouble with fiction is that it makes too much sense. Reality never makes sense.

\------------

He stops by his apartment briefly to change before he rushes to dinner with LVMH’s chief, Bernard Arnault. The jet lag is kicking him hard, and he feels like he’s moving in slow motion when switching the jumper for a sleek black shirt that hugs him perfectly and he throws a deep blue Balmain military blazer over it.

_(Louis' look:[blazer](https://41.media.tumblr.com/84695ee4ba44d7a34bdab7999a3c3233/tumblr_nss60lU06p1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

On his way, when the flashing lights of New York City bounce against the glass windows of his town car, Louis opens up the gallery on his phone in search of an Instagram-worthy photo. His thumb hovers over a photo of Harry from last night, sprawled out on the sofa, still wearing his white shirt and jean shorts from the show, right leg propped up over the left so his flowers-adorned boot is on display. He’s got a tired, happy smile on his face, both arms stretched over the seat of the sofa. Louis snapped it when he was getting back from the obligatory mini bar refill duty.

It seems like forever ago Louis slept with him. Okay, next to him. Fine, curled up with him.

His brain burns with a desire to answer Harry’s text from this morning, but his thoughts are blank as to what to write.

What can he say? ‘Oh, I wish I stayed too. But you know, I’m emotionally handicapped. There’s also this thing where my work comes first. And I’m not sure you noticed, but we live on different continents.’

Or the classic ‘You’re just not my priority right now, Harry.’

Yeah, that sounds just right.

He shoots a message to Zayn instead to check if the man is awake yet. He’s been toying with the idea of enhancing Vogue’s digital presence ever since he posted the two photos of Harry on his Instagram. They brought in huge traffic, people always looking for inspiration and the feeling of ‘backstage access’. And who would be a better figure to provide them with a hush-hush glimpse of the industry than the Vogue chief himself.

He opens his Moleskine notebook in caviar leather with L.T. engraved at the top and starts scribbling down notes for tomorrow.

It’s only minutes before they are finally at Per Se, and when he enters the restaurant Arnault is already seated at a table in the back, a glass of white in his hand.

Fashion rarely does meetings. Fashion weeks are business deal makers and breakers, jobs are distributed via recommendations and who wears what on the red carpet at the Oscars is determined by long-time sponsorship relationships or sweet talks and money.

Louis, quite a forward person, had a hard time learning the game when he first started. You either get it or you don’t, the fine subtlety of give and take. And in order to get it, you got to keep your eyes open, your mouth shut and your connections close.

It’s all about the list. The list of people you have on your side, who will stand by you and walk away with you when you decide to leave. He got Anna Wintour on his list when he was 26 by bringing back Galliano, and letting her take the credit.

His list is now so long he’s not moving anywhere anytime soon.

So when Arnault called his office before they all dashed off to Paris and suggested they catch up, he meant business. There are no friendships in fashion.

They go over the topics Louis expected to be brought up: the potential acquisitions of Victoria Beckham’s empire and LVMH Global Talent Academy. It’s small talk at best, Louis expressing his support and patting the longstanding partnership Conde Nast has with the world’s biggest luxury conglomerate on the back.

He also gets told about the new plans for the group for next year and when they are saying their goodbyes two hours later, Louis thinks about what kind of power he has and the vast amount of money that’s accumulating every day around him.

He goes over how many people he influences as a single figure. It’s long stopped being about clothes only, although it is why he first started and what keeps him going. Fashion as art and architecture, and looking into the future. That's what he’s passionate about.

The huge mechanism he’s in charge now consists of clothes and publishing, but also the sports industry, tourism and travel, all the way to high street and mass production, countless jobs and the never-ending cycle of what’s in trend now.

He opts for walking home to his apartment, thinking about responsibility and the future, interrupted by the way Harry’s arms around his waist felt like home when he was drifting off to sleep.

The message still sits heavily across his chest, and he wonders if Harry is still enjoying Rome or if he got back to business in London.

He fishes his phone out of the pocket of his trousers and uploads the photo of Harry on Instagram, captioning it ‘#behindthescenes #vogue #gq’.

A few minutes after he puts up one of Zayn too, standing in his room donned out in tartan and smiling dopily at him, and finishes it off with Niall and Liam at the after party.

Maybe the photos can tell what he’s not able to.

Louis would if he could.

\------------

His morning run ends up with him throwing up in a bush in Central Park.

Louis hasn’t thrown up from a work out since he was twenty, which makes it a full decade since he last left his bodily fluids all over a public surface.

He puts it on the con list of the Harry Damn Styles spreadsheet he started compiling almost an hour ago when his Nikes hit the pavement.

Con: makes me motherfucking puke at six in the morning

Con: alcohol, there’s always alcohol

Con: my legs feel like steel

Con: I bet he doesn’t even have to work out, fucking supermodel at seventeen

Con: the ocean between our penises

Con: I’m not starting any Conde Nast wars over his hot naked body

Pro: everything else

Louis picks himself up, and runs over to the nearest shop to buy water so he can splash it on his face and get his ass back to reality. He jogs back to his apartment and when he presses stop on Nike Running, it’s displaying he’s managed to finish 7 miles. Not bad for jet lag and Harry Styles-induced thoughts.

He shows up at the office before seven, and nobody is in yet, the majority of the office starting to drop in around nine and mingling about until the lunch break. Or as Vogue employees see it: the third coffee of the day.

Louis doesn’t bother enforcing a new policy on a system that’s clearly working fine for everyone else, but he never lets himself turn up late or leave early, checking up on every single thing that goes into every issue.

He reboots his Mac, clicking to the schedule he, Sabine and Jessica can edit, that shows his agenda, calls and notes on a daily basis.

July 11, 2015

9.00 am MEETING: Editorial, October issue

9.30 am NOTE: Final mock up approval for the September issue

10.00 am CALL: Zayn

10.30 am RUN THROUGH: Accessories

11.00 am RUN THROUGH: Beauty

11.30 am MEETING: Hamish Bowles, NYFW

12.00 pm NOTE: Sabine needs the final confirmation on the caterers and flower people for the party

12.00 pm NOTE: Jessica needs the final confirmation on the venue for the party

12.30 pm RUN THROUGH: Main shoot, October

1.00 pm RUN THROUGH: Color blocking shoot, October

2.00 pm NOTE: Calvin Klein, Balenciaga, David Koma, Dries Van Noten, Gucci, Berlutti, Marc Jacobs lookbooks for FW

4.00 pm CALL: David Sims

6.00 pm NOTE: First mock up, October

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Sabine, Mr. Townsend wants to have lunch

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Sabine, Helena from Gap wants to schedule an appointment to discuss the designer collaboration project

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Jessica, Budget for October exceeded, see in the Excel sheet

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Jessica, Niall Horan called to arrange details over his set at the party

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Jessica, Mr. Testino called

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Jessica, Mr. Lagerfeld called, he will be in his private house from 2 pm

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Sabine, Presentation schedule confirmations for NYFW, list in the Excel sheet

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Saint Laurent PR sent the ankle boots you wanted in black

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Michael from Nike called, they are introducing a new line with Beyoncé, they want to schedule a meeting

ADDITIONAL NOTE: Adele’s new album comes out in September

Louis edits the document, adding: ‘12.00 pm NOTE: Jessica and Sabine, my office, party’ and another one for 12.30pm saying: ‘How the hell am I supposed to have a run through without Zayn?’, and texts them both to bring him Starbucks on their way in.

The spreadsheet will grow up to five times the size by the end of the day once Jessica and Sabine fill it in with incoming calls and confirmations, and he knows that next week's will be a war zone, the end of the summer the most hectic time of the year.

It’s the printing week for the September issue, a little over a month before New York fashion week is about to start and Vogue hosts their annual party, and then he’s away again for Milan and Paris.

Louis prints the agenda and sticks it on the wall next to the black and white Weber, circling Zayn’s and Niall’s name and crossing out Testino. He picks up the mock up somebody left on the desk for him, completely done except for the new Valentino spread they are waiting for until 3 pm today, and walks over to the right windowsill where the loveseat overlooking the city is.

Before starting his day, he dials Harry’s number.

It rings endlessly and Louis almost gives up, but then Harry’s picking up breathlessly.

‘You finally called.’

‘Hi.’

‘You know, there are these things called text messages. Some apps even, like iMessage or Whatsapp. You can use them to answer people.’

‘I was on a plane,’ Louis sighs. He knew this wouldn’t be easy.

‘You weren’t on a plane when I texted you.’

Harry doesn’t sound annoyed. He sounds just like Harry, easygoing and overall happy.

Louis’ brain starts craving a martini. Or two.

‘I didn’t know what to say.’

Well, he really didn’t.

Harry laughs quietly at that. He still doesn’t sound annoyed.

The last time Louis was in a relationship was when he was just starting out as a fashion editor in Bazaar, and his boyfriend soon developed a rare disease where he couldn’t help rolling his eyes whenever Louis was around. And Louis almost never was.

So sue him for doubting anyone would tolerate his life choices.

‘What makes you think I do?’

Well, that’s a good question.

‘I don’t know. You seemed to know what to say in that text.’

‘What it seems like doesn’t necessarily have to be true.’

Louis shrugs to himself, not quite sure how to respond to this.

‘Listen, I am calling to ask you something. The thing where I put up your photos on Vogue.com and my Instagram, can we do that for the whole week? If you could send a photo a day, maybe feature Liam and some of the guys in additional photos. I have a meeting with Townsend this week, we can send you an official confirmation once you mail me your fee.’

‘Whoa, wait what?’

‘You want me to repeat that?’

‘Louis, I can send you a thousand photos a day. If you want. It’s mutually beneficial and I won’t ask for any kind of payment.’

‘Oh.’ Louis pauses and Harry seems to take that as an opportunity to continue talking.

‘Do you...’ Harry hesitates at that. He inhales before rushing to get the rest out. ‘Do you see me as work Louis?’

His speech slurs a bit from how fast he speaks, and he sounds doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

Louis kind of wants to ask him where he is and what he’s doing. If he woke up right this morning and had proper breakfast. He also wants to know why Harry’s asking him the question at hand.

He turns towards his office, letting his back hit the wall that continues onto the window under the right angle and looks over the vast space in front of him. His eyes travel across the clothes, the books and the infinite amount of paper sprawled across every surface his sight can reach.

He thinks about what work is for him. For most people, work is a task. Something they have to do; something they endure from nine to five in order to live. In Louis’ case, his work is his life.

Still, he can’t put Harry in his ‘work’ box. He’s one level up. Or two even.

He’s like Dior. Only vintage.

‘No.’

Harry seems to get the truth out of him every single time.

He’s quiet on the other end of the line, silently breathing. Letting a few seconds pass, he finally answers. ‘Good. Yeah, that’s good.’

‘Okay?’

‘Look, I’m coming to New York. The day after tomorrow. And if I remember correctly you offered me a tour of the closet. And I hope some more stuff too.’

‘Why are you coming to New York?’

Harry doesn’t answer.

‘Do you want to see me or not?’

‘I’m in the office from seven. I’ll let them know I’m expecting you.’

He hangs up soon after that when Sabine shows up with the first coffee of the morning.

‘Get me a breakfast with that. Fruit, eggs, juice. I feel like dying.’

It’s almost eight by the time he picks himself up and walks over to his desk, ready to rule the world.

He doesn’t let himself think about Harry. Not even once.

\------

The next day is a blur of meetings and running around town to grab lunch or a drink with people he cannot refuse to meet. He’s still short of a cover star, and a creative director. He also killed the main idea for the October issue and nobody seems like they actually came to work.

Serge Normant, a celebrity hair stylist, whose $600 haircuts are worn with pride by Julia Roberts and Sarah Jessica Parker, threw a party yesterday and everyone is severely hungover.

They are all trying to cover it with huge glasses perched high up the nose and the office has never seen a bigger array of fashionably oversized outfits. Louis would laugh, but he kinda needs them to wake the fuck up.

Around 1pm, when he’s sure they’ve all shown up, currently strewn across the office floors like zombies, he walks in front of the double glass doors in front of his office and raises his voice a tiny bit, locking his eyes on one of the blonde girls who is probably a junior assistant in the beauty department. He has no idea what her name is. She may be from another magazine entirely for all he knows.

‘Thank you all for your presence today. Now if you would kindly leave the hallways and go to your workplaces, and do what you’re paid to do. Anyone who is incapable of waking up can leave right now. And don’t bother coming back.’

He turns towards Sabine who is hunched over her desk in new season head-to-toe Prada, her eyes big and expectant. She’s the only one who seems alive in the whole office except for him.

‘Schedule the senior editors meeting in half an hour. And get us all Starbucks. Jessica seems like she might bleed out on her desk from all the tequila shots she must have had.’

The efforts of the office double after that.

Louis still feels like he hasn’t done shit the whole day.

So when he finds Zayn in his bed straight from the airport, smelling like Acqua di Gio and planes, Louis is too tired to even greet him properly. Zayn’s plane landed at 11 pm, and he was still the one who came home first.

He looks at Zayn’s slender figure under the thin duvet, and his heart does a weird skip that it’s not Harry who’s lying in his bed.

‘Long day tomorrow?’

‘Wear your comfortable shoes.’ Long would be an understatement.

‘I have nothing appropriate for New York with me, I’ll just raid your closet.’

‘Downstairs, first door on the left. Sabine dropped by a fresh load from Givenchy.’

Zayn kisses him on the cheek, his lips chaste and the skin on his cheek dry.

Louis hopes he splashes on some Estee Lauder in the morning, otherwise his skin will be a nightmare for days. He’s too tired to say it, hoping Zayn knows better anyway.

They roll each to their own side without even a good night, too tired and their friendship too easy for either to care.

Louis forgets to mention Harry coming tomorrow to Zayn, his thoughts a blank space. He has six hours of sleep ahead of him.

\------

He’s up an hour before his alarm clock rings, woken up by a fucked up dream where he ended up in prison, escaped from it and ended locked up again.

Zayn is silent on the other side of the bed, and Louis knows better than to wake him up, otherwise he will be completely useless the whole day.

And Louis needs a functioning Zayn today.

He goes for a run instead of barging in the office at 6am, and he’s panting heavily when he comes back less than an hour later. It was a slow and easy run but he feels tired all the way to his bones and he knows he will have to take a breather soon, to recharge and clear his mind.

He strips at the entrance and pads to the shower, his bare feet making tiny noises as he walks.

His apartment is ridiculously big even for his standards. Three bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, a traditional American kitchen and dining room with an adjoining open-space living room overlooking the city.

He walks across the foyer that hosts two doors on the left, one designed to keep the dry cleaning Sabine drops by every morning, and the other for his collection of jackets and shoes for the following month. He insisted on double doors in oak throughout the apartment, the only exception the mahogany pair for the closets. There is a high glass table in between them that carries a single vase filled with fresh peonies. Today they are lilac.

The foyer houses a marble staircase to his right and he climbs upstairs until he’s in his room, the biggest in the whole apartment. The room is simple and resembles his office, a wide array of white strewn across the room. The walls are the color of eggshell, one single Warhol painting hanging above a king-sized ivory bed with a high wooden headboard, and the floor is covered with a rich seashell rug that’s soft beneath his feet.

He throws one look at Zayn who has woken up and is now idly looking at his phone, and turns right at the entrance to take a shower in a matching white, marble-covered bathroom.

The water feels almost icy on his skin and he lets himself stand a bit longer underneath the stream, the droplets of water massaging his back and clearing his thoughts.

He has two days before the weekend starts and he needs to cram as much work into it as he can, the October issue a giant rain cloud over his head.

It’s all he can think about even though he knows they will make it the same way they always do. One of the perks of being a perfectionist is you never let it go, though.

Zayn gives him a slap on the ass when he gets back to his room naked, Zayn currently matching him, phone still clutched in his hand.

Zayn really, really likes his ass. He wonders if Harry shares the sentiment.

‘You said something about Givenchy?’ Zayn looks up from his phone with a devilish grin.

‘Put on some underwear first, I’m not letting your dick touch Givenchy.’

‘My dick filled up your ass.’

Louis looks at him in mock horror.

‘Not in front of the clothes, Zayn!’ It’s a good thing he doesn’t have neighbours, otherwise they would hear him scream. He chucks a pair of Calvin Kleins from the underwear drawer to his best friend and heads downstairs to grab the fresh dry-cleaned clothes from the closet.

He comes back with a dozen sleek black garment bags in his hands to find Zayn standing in the centre of the walk-in closet with his hands on his waist, right hip cocked on the side.

The room where Louis’ clothes are stored is massive with racks on the left and right, and shoes displayed on shelves upon shelves perched up on the wall facing the double doors. There is a plush carpet in a shade of baby powder and above it a giant chandelier casting warm light over the clothes.

‘What if I take the Lanvin gilet?’ Zayn turns to look at him. ‘I can’t see you in that anyway.’

‘You come to the sanctuary and then you insult me?’

He is completely right though.  Louis can’t even remember why he picked the gilet in a warm cognac color in the first place.

Zayn just laughs at him. ‘Okay, so I’m taking that. Pants too.’

Zayn walks over to the rack closest to the door and grabs a hanger that is housing the gilet and black wide-fitting pants, placed together as they were a part of the same look on the runway.

He looks like he’s shopping, always happy to raid a closet that’s not his, slightly unfamiliar. He once described it as an adventure, a high he can’t explain. Maybe that’s why Louis hasn’t banned him from stealing from the office closet. Yet.

_(Zayn's look:[gilet and pants](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f29e699987036fdbd384862d74dd5a96/tumblr_nss6eyJNz51tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [tank top](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/zanerobe-flintlock-marble-tank-top-item-11058238.aspx?storeid=9058&ffref=lp_56_6_) / [shoes](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/giuseppe-zanotti-design-studded-slippers-item-11082344.aspx?storeid=9436&ffref=lp_59_16_))_

He leaves Zayn to fend for himself, knowing the man will be now looking for a top and shoes, and goes over to open up the garment bags on the bed.

There’s a wide array of prints and jumpers, and it’s all very loud, much more vocal than he can remember the collection looking on the runway. He picks the tamest of what he can find, feeling more like luxury than setting trends today.

Louis puts on a slim fit white cross print shirt and classic tailored trousers in black, and puts chelsea boots in shiny black leather with a slightly pointed toe and silver-studded sole.

He gets up in search of a jacket and a bag, opting for a classic leather biker and a leather briefcase, both impeccable Givenchy design, too.

_(Louis' look:[shirt](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/givenchy-cross-print-shirt-item-11082279.aspx?storeid=9672&ffref=lp_65_55_) / [trousers](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/givenchy-classic-tailored-trousers-item-11092148.aspx?storeid=9383&ffref=lp_160_2_) / [boots](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/givenchy-studded-chelsea-boots-item-11086121.aspx?storeid=9475&ffref=lp_12_71_) / [jacket](http://www.mrporter.com/en-hr/mens/givenchy/zip-off-sleeves-leather-biker-jacket/493083) / [briefcase](http://www.mrporter.com/en-hr/mens/givenchy/leather-briefcase/565248))_

Zayn meets him downstairs, looking like a perfect rich indie artist, and they order in for breakfast.

‘Look at us nailing this morning routine stuff, family style.’  Zayn looks happily at him, mouth stuffed with eggs.

‘We are a family, Zaynie. Just better dressed.’

Louis grins at his best friend, glad they share the sentiment before opening the Women’s Wear Daily at that, and letting himself enjoy a moment of peace before the storm.

After they prolong their morning routine for what seems like hours, they walk to the office hand in hand around eight and Zayn nestles in the chair in front of the desk in Louis’ office once Louis shows him the schedule for the day. He doesn’t even bother going over to his office next door, just steals a white notepad from Sabine and starts scribbling down ideas or sketching.

He looks tiny, all soft angles curled up in a ball in the soft chair.

Florence + The Machine starts playing softly as soon as they settle in, and they work quietly for the morning, Louis bouncing off ideas at Zayn for the issue here and there.

‘I really want Florence for the cover. But it’s not marketable.’

He looks up from where he’s been scrolling through a shoot the British Vogue did with the woman in question a year ago.

‘Are you asking me for executive advice? It’s you who's the brain behind this operation.’

Well that was helpful. Just as he expected.

Almost as if he can read the irritation coming off from Louis, Zayn continues: ‘I can style it perfectly. Seventies, fringe, soft lightning, ton of suede. It can be exceptional. But it’s yours to tell me if I should.’

Louis sighs. ‘It would be exceptional. Copper and mahogany-colored editorial. What dreams are made of, especially for October.’ He drops his pen and lets his back hit the backrest of the chair. ‘But it also won’t sell.’

Louis is worried, is what is. He’s inspired by Florence, but also too afraid to take such a big risk.

He walks over to the shelf where every issue of the last ten years has been stored, and pulls out the October issues.

‘October sells like crap every year. We make a splash with September and it’s always bad numbers the next month. I can’t have a bad cover on top of it.’

But he really wants Florence. She’s the soul of the generation.

‘Why don’t we put her in the second editorial? Why does she have to be the cover?’

Zayn is firing back, his full attention on Louis.

Okay, now they’re rolling.

‘And what, have a ton of celebrities in the issue?’

He looks at Zayn who’s gaping at him like he’s mental.

‘Why not? Have them all have something in common.’

Zayn’s stare is piercing, like he knows Louis is about to figure it out all in the next few seconds.

And yes, they could all have something in common.

Louis cocks his hips and tilts his head at that innocently. ‘What if they are all… British?’

Zayn bursts out laughing.

‘Oh my. You are so whipped. You are that whipped cream on top of frappés at Starbucks.’

‘What are you even talking about?’

‘British!’ Zayn exclaims and he stands up, still laughing. He leaves his things on the chair, picking up a pack of Marlboros from a glass desk to his right.

Patting Louis on the back, he turns around to walk out of the room sing-songing ‘What if they are all British’ back to Louis.

He is not sure if Zayn is just being crazy on purpose or if Louis really is onto something here.

Maybe it’s both.

He runs after Zayn who is currently waiting for the elevator to come up, and yells to Sabine to schedule an editors’ meeting in fifteen.

‘You know this could work.’ He throws at Zayn when the door closes after them, leaving a crowd of his employees to wait for the next ride after they diligently let them through first.

‘I’m not questioning your expertise, only your motives.’

If Zayn wasn’t so brilliant, he would have been fired a long time ago.

The cigarette sits amazing in his bloodstream, the headache he was nursing passing away with the third drag. Louis can feel the excitement of a new idea boiling up in his toes.

\----------

The room around him is filled with senior editors currently arguing over all things British. After suggesting that they all, for once, figure out together how to execute a British-themed issue without running the national flag or McQueen on the cover, chaos broke out.

Louis remembers then why he never asks, only commands.

Turns out everyone loves Britain. And everyone has their favourite. Victoria Beckham and Kate Moss being the most obvious and most pushed choices.

Zayn is sitting opposite him, notebook in front of him, and he’s sketching, not a single care written across his face.

Louis can tell he has no idea what’s going on. If he could buy self control a la Zayn in Target, he would buy twenty packets.

He starts writing down the issue highlights as the editors are still discussing why Victoria is better than Kate and vice versa when Sabine enters the conference room, a serious look on her face as she marches to where Louis is sitting.

Her hair tickles Louis’ nose when she slouches over so he’s the only one who can hear her.

‘Harry Styles is here to see you. I didn’t know if I should let him in your office, so I left him in the lobby.’

Shit. Is today the day he was supposed to come? Today? As in right now?

How could Louis forget that? That’s why he just doesn’t do human interaction.

Holy crap on a cracker. Did he seriously skip two days just like that?

Zayn stands up at that and in three long strides he is crowded into Louis’ space, looking at him with an amused look. ‘I can go.’

So he was paying attention after all.

‘I completely forgot he was supposed to come in today, Zayn. I don’t have time for him.’

All joking aside, how did he forget Harry? How do you forget a human?

The creative director runs his hand over Louis’ back, going over the tension knots in the shoulder muscles.

‘Relax. I’ve got it. And you, you’ve got this.’ He throws his hand in the direction of the rest of the people in the room, all waiting for them to finish the conversation, and then pats Louis on the head.

‘What are you gonna do with him?’

‘He’s not a dog, Lou. It’s not that much of a struggle.’ Zayn turns around while he is closing the glass door of the conference room. ‘Oh, and put Alexa on the cover.’

Alexa Chung. The ultimate British fashion icon.

Oh that’s brilliant. Bless Zayn and his ridiculous mind and never-ending flow of ideas.

Louis lets all the editors go soon after that, no need for further discussion, and he retreats back to his office to draw up the issue with Alexa on his mind, and all things British as a theme.

Everything goes smoothly after that, and he figures out he will be able to feature Florence after all, as a representative of the music scene. He’ll single out Victoria Beckham as a success story, and Alexa will be the featured as the ultimate It-girl. No surprises there.

He spends the rest of the day dividing the work and calling up editor after editor in order to explain them the tasks at hand, and when he’s done with that he starts researching what they can feature in the articles.

He’s doing a themed issue, and it’s been a long time since Vogue has done one.

\-------------------

It’s around eight pm when he leaves the office, and he gives driver the address Zayn texted him.

Either Zayn is feeling posh tonight or Harry has a thing for mini indoor pools and overpriced drinks as they are currently in LeBain, a posh bar on top of The Standard’s building.

Louis stopped by the beauty department on his way out, his personal stylist ready as ever to make his cheekbones pop and hair look perfectly sleek.

He’s sporting a quiff and a fresh outfit, switching up the stiff Givenchy trousers for Rag & Bone cotton shorts in charcoal. He’s topped it off with a Saint Laurent western-looking denim shirt with leather patches on the shoulders and sleeves rolled up almost all the way up his elbows. There’s a Balenciaga creased leather bracelet in black wrapped around his wrist three times and he’s matched it with a thin Dolce & Gabbana belt made of black and grey calf hair. He’s wearing Arizona matte brown sandals from Birkenstock on his feet.

_(Louis' look:[shirt](https://41.media.tumblr.com/cb50144338c4ad1aee36851727275000/tumblr_nss6m4ANRq1tawb72o1_500.jpg) / [shorts](https://40.media.tumblr.com/b4b5e42a8490e6cb1a7dfb21fcf757d5/tumblr_inline_nss6l2B1w91sf1zml_540.jpg) / [bracelet](https://41.media.tumblr.com/661d584ae344eee312b50816e008b35a/tumblr_inline_nss6lxfKSh1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [belt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/322481ad17d3088bf1f34d42f41582b4/tumblr_inline_nss6lautxR1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [sandals](https://41.media.tumblr.com/21a4b372bcb6b21efcbb4342ce2cc0d7/tumblr_inline_nss6liDrAZ1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

When he enters the bar, he has to skim through the thick crowd in order to find Zayn and Harry, and he’s happy he switched the contacts for glasses. Not that he wouldn’t recognize the two most handsome men in the whole of New York, but the earlier the better.

He finds them in a vivid conversation, Zayn looking dopey-eyed and hanging on to every word that’s coming out of Harry’s mind. The other men is shouting slightly, trying to overpower the music in a sloppy way.

So they’re both a long way to drunk already.

Harry notices him only when he’s a foot away and he stands up abruptly, a wide grin on his face.

‘Louis!’ His hands sneak behind Louis’ back and they’re pressed firmly chest to chest, Louis’ chin resting on Harry’s shoulder. Harry smells a bit musky, like a day-old French perfume with a hint of sweat and cigarettes and Louis can feel his cock twitch in interest.

Louis closes his eyes, not wanting to let go soon, but then Harry is pressing his huge hands on the top of his shoulders and holding him at arm’s length.

‘You look even better than the last time I saw you.’

The last time Harry saw Louis was in his bed.

‘Thank you. I see you are enjoying yourselves.’

He feels the tension seeping from his body underneath Harry’s scrutinizing stare and he lets a tiny hint of smile nestle in his cheeks. Louis looks over where Zayn is sitting, looking at them rather fondly. Louis smiles at him, mouthing a silent thank you.

His best friend just rolls his eyes.

‘Sorry for ditching you, I can’t seem to catch a break.’ Louis’ eyes wander back to Harry. He expects to see a hint of annoyance or at least catch an angry breath coming from the man before him, but Harry just smiles.

‘Wasn’t expecting you to take the day off. Don’t worry about it.’

And Louis really doesn’t know what to add to that, instead squeezing Harry’s waist as he takes a seat across the two of them.

‘What are we drinking?’

‘Ohhh, let me order for you. Can I?’ Harry stands up at that and when Louis nods, he walks over to the bar, alluding happiness to everyone in the near vicinity.

Louis turns his torso so he can follow him as Harry mingles his way through the crowd, his ass looking tight in magenta silk trousers. His back forms a perfect V in the Balmain flower-print T shirt in burgundy and he’s wearing Gucci black leather sandals. There’s a Hublot chronograph black watch on his left hand and an array of platinum rings on his right.

_(Harry's look:[shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/39486319f8a5b8bea2e2735ade41f77e/tumblr_inline_nss6pjSP2O1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [trousers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9d48d761c8a35898caa39ea0079db57c/tumblr_nss6q8arNC1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [watch](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d23d5b1fb83e8b3b0dd60fdc08b047c5/tumblr_inline_nss6pwqfnv1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

Louis is, at the moment, not entirely sure if he’s imagining him.

Zayn snaps his finger, too eager to prevent Louis making a fool out of himself a second longer.

‘You need to fuck it out. Let go of the sexual tension.’

He’s not even smirking, his eyes dark and a bit blurry from the alcohol, but serious.

‘You’re showing, Louis.’ He nudges his head towards Louis’ crotch, and yeah, there’s more than a hint of a hard on there.

‘Fuck. Kick me in the shin. Quick, before he comes back.’

Zayn slams his foot into him hard, and he’s wincing in pain, but it works, his dick limp again after a few agonizing seconds.

‘Thanks.’ Louis grits through his teeth with a fake smile just as Harry’s ass comes into the view again and he is sitting down across from him.

He hands Louis a drink in multiple shades of orange and yellow in a tall glass. It’s filled with ice and, if he can see correctly, several slices of cucumber.

‘Did you order the world’s gayest drink?’ Louis can’t help but notice Harry’s matching him, the same beverage in his glass.

‘It’s delicious.’ Harry grins. ‘Delicious drink for a delicious man.’

He can’t help but burst out laughing at that, Harry beaming at how proud he is for coming up with the compliment.

‘I think this will be your last drink. Yours too, Zayn. You look like two thirds of drunk Jonas Brothers.’

‘Oh come on, we’ve just started, the night is young!’ Harry is singing now. He’s so adorable, the way his nose scrunches up and his shoulder tense a bit when he draws his arms up and lets them float like he has no control of them.

‘We can get loose on the weekend, if you wish. If you’ll have me.’

‘Loose?’ Harry quirks his eyebrow and slouches forward so his face is incredibly close to Louis’ torso.

Louis looks down at him, and he feels ridiculous with the way Harry’s currently holding himself in such a weird position when he’s actually that much taller than Louis.

‘You can even take me dancing.’

Well that’s the first time he's said anything like that.

‘I can take you dancing? For real?’ Harry’s face is one of absolute delight with a tiny hint of disbelief.

Is dancing supposed to be a turn on? Why did Louis even suggest dancing? He’s never been strictly dancing in his whole adult life.

He’s just gonna have to wing it. ‘I never joke about dancing.’

Harry nods once, seriously, and proclaims, ‘I am taking you dancing,’ continuing to sip on his drink after that.

Louis nudges his foot slightly, because he’s clearly not in control of his body anymore, and somehow it stays there until they are getting up and Harry’s picking up the bill.

And so what if Louis’ hand gets lost underneath Harry’s shirt when they’re trying to escape the club and there’s a few hungry stares coming in Harry’s direction. The fabric rolls up on the right side of Harry’s waist so it’s bundled up there and when Louis places his hand as if to guide him, the skin-on-skin contact makes Harry shiver a bit, although he doesn’t turn around to face Louis.

Neither does he comment when they’re outside and a warm breeze and heated sidewalks greet them, the street almost empty.

Louis lets it go, the same way he’s let a great ordeal of things slip away when it comes to Harry. He’s obviously on a roll, doing extremely foolish things whenever in the younger man’s vicinity.

Who the fuck goes dancing.

‘I’m afraid I won’t have time for you tomorrow either. Not outside the office. But you could come in, help me out? We are doing a British themed issue.’

He lets his mouth quirk up at that, Harry’s eyes fixated on his face, all attentive.

‘A British themed issue. Is that right?’ He’s grinning, the bastard.

Zayn, standing a few feet away and leaning on a street sign, is looking like he’s going to pop a lung, lips pressed into a tight line with how hard he’s trying not to laugh. He takes his phone in his hands, probably calling the driver to pick them up. Or maybe just trying to distance himself from the situation at hand.

‘Arranged the cover with Alexa today.’

But I thought I was the shiniest star in Britain!’ He pouts at that, and it would be adorable if Harry wasn’t turning Louis on with just, well, existing.

Harry attempts to twirl, his hands on his hips. He fails miserably, the sole of his sandals bending so his fingers scrape the pavement.

Louis looks at him, lower lip hanging as he’s still trying to show disappointment over his failure in becoming a prima ballerina on the streets of New York, and he realizes he has approximately zero clue as to what he’s doing.

Harry’s obviously tipsy and Louis is tired, and he’s not getting anything other than a wank out of this, but he’s still unsure what to say.

Harry snaps his attention away from contemplating when he announces: ‘I usually have boots on.’ He looks at Louis honestly, like it’s a regular thing, him twirling.

Louis very obviously needs to have his mouth on Harry’s mouth. Just not now.

He notices a car stopping at a curb and Zayn is signalling to him that yes, it’s their ride and he should decide what he’s doing with the pouty giant next to him.

‘Let us drop you off at your hotel, Harry.’

Louis takes Harry’s hand in his, strictly for guiding purposes, and it’s warm and dry, enveloping Louis’ completely. Harry’s fingers interlock with his as soon as Louis slips his hand into Harry’s and they fit, like puzzle pieces.

Harry’s giggly during the short ride. His cheek is glued to the glass window and he locks his eyes on the city changing its shapes outside, keeping his hand glued to Louis’.

When they drop him off at The Greenwich Hotel, Louis waits ten minutes before sending him a short ‘Dream of us dancing’.

He doesn’t let Zayn’s by now permanent smirk get into his head when he drops him off a few streets down from Louis’ building. He absolutely doesn’t let Harry’s fingers wrapped around his blur his thoughts.

He also definitely doesn’t wank off to Harry in those tight pants.

\---------------------------

The next day Louis wakes up to a message consisting of a series of sun emojis from Harry, and checking the time he sees it was sent a few minutes ago. It’s 5.30 am.

‘U awake?’

He gets up, happy he didn’t drink more than that one awful colored drink, excited to go running.

Louis decides he will ditch Central Park today and just roam the streets considering it’s early enough so he goes straight for the closet to look for the loudest neon clothes he can find.

Harry’s text rings from his room just as he’s taking out a pair of bright orange Nike running shorts.

‘Was thinking of going for a workout,’ and it’s followed by every sports emoji Harry could find.

A man after Louis’ heart, that one. Fucking ridiculous.

‘Going for a run, I can pick you up in 20.’

Harry sends multiple thumbs up back.

It’s very much like communicating with a child.

Louis gets dressed and hastily eats a banana from the fridge so he won’t have to fight an urge to collapse, or worse, puke in front of Harry, and hops into the car waiting for him to take him across town.

Driving to get to a run, well that must be the most idiotic thing he’s ever done.

He find Harry waiting for him in front of the hotel, dressed in a space print slim fit shirt and black shorts, his hair in a bun and Ray Bans perched on his nose. He’s wearing headphones, but one is dangling on his chest, while he bobs his head to the music.

He smiles when he notices Louis.

‘Driving to get to a workout. That’s classy.’ He smells of daisies when he embraces Louis, leaving his hands roam over Louis’ back for what’s longer than strictly necessary.

‘I’m all the way across town, if I were to run here, I wouldn’t have much in me to join you on your quest.’ Louis flashes him a smile as he gets his phone out of his pocket and glues it to his biceps with the armband.

‘Shall we?’ He nods in the direction of a crossing in front of them.

‘Lead the way.’

And Louis does, each of them doing their own thing, listening to music and exchanging a word here and there. Harry lets Louis pace them and follows his tempo without a complaint for over five miles before Louis can see him slowing down slightly.

‘You wanna take a breather? I was planning on doing this much more.’

Harry looks at him like he’s mental, but doesn’t stop running, his cheeks flaring and sweat pooling on his forehead and collarbones.

‘Yeah, I’m gonna,’ he’s panting, and Louis refrains from smiling at him, knowing better than to look down on struggling runners. ‘I can do it… just, yeah, go go go.’

He raises his arm as if he’s trying to shoo Louis away and Louis nods, making a mental note to keep the encouragements flowing for the next mile or so.

‘It’s gonna burn a bit now, but then it will get better. You can do it.’ He looks over at Harry who is still keeping up at him, shallow breaths escaping his mouth. ‘Just breathe. Every two steps, long inhale, long exhale.’

It takes Harry a bit, but he settles in the rhythm again, and Louis can see he’s more comfortable after telling him how good he’s doing and that they are almost there every two or three minutes.

When they cross the ten-mile line, Harry crashes to the ground, dust flowing around him.

‘Heeey, get up, we gotta walk it off. Come on, let’s walk over to that shop and get some water. Walk it off.’

Harry’s stare is incredulous, like he wants to build up a fortress where he is currently half sitting and half kneeling on the pavement.

Louis lends him a hand and Harry holds himself up, a small smile on his face.

‘Pick someone who’s supportive, eh?’ He grins at that.

Louis’ nod is small, but it doesn’t go unnoticed, and he thinks about how New York looks more than usually dashing around him.

After getting some water in his system, Harry burps and Louis should be disgusted, but all he can think about is how they both look awful, losing any feeling in their lungs and feet somewhere in those ten miles, and there’s sweat and a permanent red color to their faces, but he can still see Harry looking at him as attentively and soft as he always does.

His eyes go over Harry’s post-workout face and body, and all that he can find in his thoughts is how much he wants to keep him, how beautiful he is.

Louis realizes that’s a first. But Harry’s already been his first in so many ways he’s lost count.

He shakes it off and nudges Harry’s shoulder playfully as they start walking back, currently less than a mile away from Harry’s hotel.

‘So what should I wear for Vogue?’ Harry asks after he’s finished munching on his banana.

‘You really want to come? Even though you know I have to work?’

Louis expected him to forget or ignore their conversation from yesterday. Why would anyone want to spend time watching him work?

‘I would watch you do pretty much anything, Louis.’

Whoa.

‘In that case, wear anything you’d like.’

Harry stops in his step and Louis watches him place his hands on his waist, his face one of pure disbelief.

‘But it’s Vogue. I can’t wear anything!’

Louis laughs. Only Harry would be truthful enough to openly let the editor in chief of Vogue know he’s clueless as to what to put on.

‘You have good taste, it’s going to be fine. You can be a bit quirky, too.’

‘I have good taste?’ His face is turning into a grin slowly as he waits for another confirmation.

As soon as Louis nods his head Harry starts skipping, arms flailing as he proclaims: ‘I have good taste.’

Louis couldn’t ask for a better morning.

They part ways with a promise they’ll see each other soon, Louis calling the driver to pick him up.

He’s at the office a little after seven, as soon as he showers and picks his outfit for the day.

Every time he has a really good workout, it leaves him feeling sexy, his brain buzzing with endorphins. So he lets himself take advantage of it, choosing black leather Saint Laurent skinny trousers with silver zippers lined up over leggings in the front. He pairs them with a simple black ribbed, almost see-through top and a black Raf Simons sleeveless duster coat. He puts on a pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots with a silver buckle to tone it all down.

When he looks himself in the mirror, he looks hot, the trousers making his legs look toned and long and the duster coat drawing attention to his tattooed arms.

_(Louis' look:[trousers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d75ee3532cacd0cefc88309a7ab179f8/tumblr_inline_nss6ynwWZv1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [coat](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f1002d33d6a54b752704f09f680afd45/tumblr_nss6yv7KeQ1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [boots](https://41.media.tumblr.com/b7f6226acc240a7a64942539f72975d2/tumblr_nss6y6Ac7L1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

He starts with checking up on this week’s publications when he lets himself in to the vacant floor and takes a seat next to the window to watch the city underneath him slowly wake up.

He picks up his own coffee today, giving a girl at the counter a near heart-attack when she realizes who she’s serving. He leaves her a fifty for his five-dollar coffee.

It’s the regular round of New York Times followed by Vanity Fair and Women’s Wear Daily, and when he’s done he picks up a few of the international Vogue editions to check up on the latest changes and overall progress.

Sabine comes in just in time to drop a new round of coffee on his table and the first mock up of the October issue, along with today’s agenda. Zayn shows up dressed in light blue linen suit, the pants a wide fit with a fitted waistline, the blazer unbuttoned so you can see a marble-print white T shirt underneath.

‘What are you wearing?’ Louis says as a way of greeting.

‘Something I picked up in Rome. An up and coming designer. Forgot the name.’ Zayn feels the fabric of the blazer underneath his fingertips and shoots a tiny smile in Louis’ direction.

‘You look good.’

He really does.

‘I knew you’d like it.’ Zayn settles in, legs thrown over the armrest and he takes the paper with today’s agenda in his hands.

‘They have the run throughs ready for today?’ He looks up from the paper, his eyes rimmed with turtle-patterned glasses.

‘Mostly. What’s not in yet, we have photos.’

Zayn hums at that, and Louis sometimes wonders why the man even asks him questions like the one he just did. He already knows the answer. Hell, he could probably do Louis’ job if he wasn’t so lost in his imagination.

‘Okay, I’ll see you in a few hours then. Need to figure out two main stories, since you had your brilliant idea just yesterday.’ He glances over at Louis like he’s mortally offended.

Louis knows he loves it deep down, the time constraints on making an idea come to life. Zayn usually comes up with his best ideas in a few hours.

He lets him go, knowing Zayn will take all the lookbooks from Sabine and afterwards go to the fashion department to go over his choices with three other senior fashion editors he trusts.

He can’t help himself looking forward to 4 pm when the four run throughs in a row have been scheduled.

It’s a slow process before that, going over the articles submitted for the issue and writing the editor’s letter.

Sabine brings him pancakes for breakfast and he remembers to ask for a double portion so when Harry makes an appearance not long after, they share the food, splitting the fruity and chocolate-covered versions so each can have both.

Harry looks beautiful today, his hair loose and sunglasses keeping the fringe from falling into his eyes. He didn’t go for quirky but more of an elegant feel with a dose of eclectic injected into the look.

Louis couldn’t be more proud when he checks him out, his long legs on display as he’s wearing indigo Marc Jacobs shorts with tiny palm trees printed all over, a burgundy Burberry shirt unfastened all the way to the third button and a series of silver necklaces bundled around his neck.

He’s wearing combat boots with a curved lacing by Yohji Yamamoto and a Jimmy Choo backpack in electric blue.

_(Harry's look:[shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/842f8cc462f19d819f58896f5fa160d8/tumblr_inline_nss72tEvku1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [shorts](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d0024ef8133bdb321dcaf1dc2514e5e5/tumblr_inline_nss73a56hs1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/c2b01101e652dc2738e2d33af3ef24cb/tumblr_nss73o8Sjc1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [backpack](https://36.media.tumblr.com/d91a8c71cd3ea5c0df7fb47083bdb5cb/tumblr_inline_nss73lisec1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

Louis tells him how good he looks and Harry beams at him when he gets instructed to go over and stand in front of the window so Louis can capture the look for Instagram.

‘Brits do it better. #day1 #harrystylesforvogue @harrystyles’

He takes a bit longer than necessary to take photos of every garment on Harry’s body for Vogue.com, and even if Harry notices, he doesn’t let it show, standing perfectly still and giving light-hearted comments about Louis’ office.

Harry takes Louis’ morning place on the seat next to the window and Louis turns his chair so he’s facing him, Mac nestled in his lap.

‘You know, you could try writing something. If it’s good we might run it. British perspective and all.’

Well, Harry may as well do something. Otherwise Louis will just do nothing but stare at him for the next eight hours.

Harry Styles is just too pretty.

‘Really?’ Harry smiles at him, and he’s got a foam print above his lip from the coffee he’s sipping.

Louis gets up and trails his fingers gently where the foam is nestled on the curve underneath Harry’s nose, and Harry exhales wildly. He seems a bit taken aback, but collects himself quickly when Louis lets his hand drop.

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Louis turns around and walks over to Sabine, bringing back a silver Mac for Harry to use.

He takes the mock up in his other hand.

‘This is what we have for now.’ Louis shows him the mock up. ‘Browse through it, research a bit if you want. It can’t end up all 'let loose and run free', but it can definitely be good natured and witty.’

Harry’s eyes are round and his gaze interested. He’s drinking in everything Louis is saying.

‘There’s a stack of old October issues over there, and you can browse through Vogue.com a bit, too.’ Louis sits back down in his chair, a little unsure of where this is all going.

‘I’m not expecting anything. And you most certainly don’t have to do anything.’

Well, he does expect a lot of things from Harry Styles. Most of them don’t include any clothing.

‘Oh shut up.’ Harry laughs. ‘Go back to work and let me be.’

Louis grins at him as Harry adds: ‘Like I would turn down an opportunity to write something for Vogue.’

Harry throws his head back and lets another, bigger smile settle on his face.

It seems final, the arrangement, and Louis lets Florence sing all the things he’s not able to say, turns around and goes back to work, occasionally taking breaks just to hear Harry breathe behind him.

They work in silence for hours like that, Louis picking up the calls when Sabine’s voice carries through and every time he finishes Harry makes a comment.

It’s always a compliment, a boost to Louis’ ego. Something along the lines of ‘That was Lagerfeld. You just got a call from Lagerfeld,’ or ‘Oh yeah, just casually chatting to the mayor of New York City.’ But it makes Louis’ heart grow bigger.

He wonders how he functioned all these years without Harry’s presence next to him.

When it’s time for the run throughs, Harry stands in the corner quietly, letting Louis pick out the outfits and comment on lack of material to work with.

Louis throws in a glance or two at him, but Harry looks like he isn’t sure if it’s okay to interfere so he just lets him be until the first round of run throughs is over and two of his editors leave to make room for Zayn and the accessories department. He’s rolling in four racks of clothing and there’s two skinny strawberry-colored hair girls trudging in after him carrying big baskets full of matching bags, shoes and jewellry.

As they are placing the accessories on the floor in neat rows, Louis walks over to Harry and stands next to him so their shoulders almost touch.

‘You know, it’s okay to butt in. It’s just me and Zayn bickering now.’ He smiles at Harry gently, and watches as Zayn stands up from where he was squatting, arranging Charlotte Olympia heels next to Prada.

‘Okay, Alexa first.’

Zayn tries to sell Louis his vision, the accessories editors staying mostly quiet, while Louis shoots down his ideas.

‘We’re not going the easy way here, Zayn.’

The creative director doesn’t give up, the same way he never does when he wants something done a certain way and he arranges outfit after outfit for Louis, a series of prints and high-waisted jeans.

When Louis says no for the twentieth time and Zayn throws his hands in the air, Harry finally speaks up.

He’s slow in his movements, not coming too close to the place where Louis and Zayn are standing over piles of clothing, and looks over to Zayn’s exasperated face.

‘Look, I don’t wanna tell you how to do your job, but I know Alexa pretty well and her own style without going for anything over the top is enough for a fantastic editorial. She does minimalism so well, maybe focus on that?’

When Louis nods at him, he continues. ‘Louis is obviously pushing for a minimalistic theme here, and you want something more. Why don’t you meet in the middle? Choose prints, the Saint Laurent shirts would work pretty well, and go with denim or skinny trousers in black.’

The Vogue duo just stares at him for what seems like hours before Zayn turns around, takes a rich pink Proenza Schouler skirt in his hand and says ‘I still want this. And two grande shots. I can do minimalism for the rest.’

Louis just smiles at Harry, mouthing a silent ‘good job’ to him and turns back to Zayn as they repeat the choosing process until they settle for ten looks they are happy with.

It’s easy after that, Zayn already determined to shoot every single piece in suede he could find for Florence and Louis lets him have fun, knowing he’ll do wonders.

It’s been hours of standing and a lot of 'no’s' from Louis and he gets restless very soon, his mind not fully focused on his job but rather on Harry. Louis’ heart is full of pride and joy and something that reads similar to desperation, and he can’t wait to get over with this as soon as possible.

The moment everything gets cleared from his office and all that’s left is his plush white carpet and Harry standing in the corner with a dreamy expression and a slight smile in the corners of his cheeks, Louis goes over to him and runs his hand over Harry’s right arm.

‘Thank you, that was brilliant.’

Harry doesn’t seem too keen on answering, and that’s fine with Louis as he has something else in mind entirely.

‘Let’s go for a smoke, yeah?’ He doesn’t wait for Harry to move, just picks up his sunglasses and cigarettes. Harry follows suit and they’re quiet in the short ride in the elevator.

Louis takes him to one street down from the entrance of the building where Vogue offices are, away from the prying eyes and non-stop gossip.

As soon as they reach a patch of green with a few benches and noticeably less suits roaming around, he turns over to where Harry has come to a halt next to him and trails his thumb over Harry’s jawline. He doesn’t let himself think, or breathe, or do anything else, just dives in and presses his lips on Harry’s.

It should be rushed with the way Louis’ heart thumps in his chest and his hands are now in Harry’s hair, but it’s painfully gentle, the way Harry’s still a second behind him and Louis dares to move just a bit, and apparently that’s all that takes for Harry to open his mouth. They are kissing, properly kissing now, open-mouthed with no tongue, just breathing each other in. Louis lets his head fall back so he can breath air in his lungs, and when he opens his eyes, Harry’s face is gentle and inches away from his.

‘I’ve been waiting all day to do this.’

Harry kisses him again. This time with full force.


	4. Flo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single comment feels like a gift. Thank you. 
> 
> (Special thanks to Helenah for jumping in, I can't thank you enough. )

_**October 2015, Letter from the editor** _

_THE PLEASURE OF THE NEW_

_This summer has been a hectic run of seeing the couture, resort and men’s collections for Vogue’s editors and me. When we discussed the issue in spring, we couldn’t have foreseen meeting new forces over the course of the summer months, who would inspire us to publish an issue that is not only distinct but also a unprecedented in the Vogue history. To have a theme issue published is a great challenge, but we feel it is also a great accomplishment. When I brought up the idea of featuring today’s British cultural forces, the ones that are the pushing  the boundaries of the new and the next, the girls and boys who epitomise cool, the Vogue office descended into total chaos of opinions and favouritism. It is not every day I see my staff so exhilarated, and when someone raised the issue of who to feature on the cover, we were faced with the struggle of choosing just one individual. Alexa Chung, (“Everyone’s IT girl,” page 266) photographed by Peter Lindbergh and Creative Director Zayn Malik, turns into no one but herself in a spread featuring everything we look for when dressing minimalistic for fall. It is Peter’s first cover in almost a decade and a rare example of Zayn working with someone like Chung, who is a stylist herself, for the issue. For Zayn, it is never about dialogue or compromise, and he rarely gets sidetracked by the stars he photographs; to him, the clothes and how they’ll photograph are the thing. But Zayn is a fan; he was the one who first suggested Alexa should be featured on the cover, and as she herself informed me, he even let her choose one or two things to wear when they met in London’s Covent Garden. Zayn sees in Chung what we all see: not only an astonishingly beautiful woman who is somewhat of an anomaly in the fashion world, known for being outstandingly simplistic yet faultless in her fashion tastes, but also an incredibly funny individual and an exceptional business woman._

_Business is what the Brits are about, as Joan Juliet Buck goes behind the scenes of the biggest entrepreneurial fashion story of the century (“London Affair,” page 311), visiting Net A Porter’s London office and getting to know the inside workings of the highest grossing undertaking in the last decade. And speaking of success stories, Hadley Freeman investigates Victoria Beckham’s empire, both her personal efforts with both her family and business, together with the story of how she raised herself and her brand to be nothing but an exceptional presence on the world stage. There’s a stamp of impeccable design on every garment coming from the Beckham factory, and that’s what has been photographed by David Sims in London’s Dover Street, where the brand opened its only shop last year (“Fashion Transformer”, page 342)._

_Florence Welch is yet another peculiarity. A pre-Raphaelite figure caught in a whirling dervish, an icon of British music that took the world by storm with her extended journal-entry lyrics and art-pop sound. Flo, as she prefers to be called, is not only an oddity extraordinaire in the music world but serves as a muse in fashion, with her sky-high heels often traded for bare feet and simple white Saint Laurent see-through shirts interrupted with boho flowy tops. It is with great pride that we have Welch with us again > The last time, her set at the Met’s Costume Institute Gala in 2011 put us all under a spell, and looking back, it was just the beginning of what seems to have been the era of the fiery-haired goddess. Creative Director Zayn Malik worked on a spread with Flo (“Queen of Everything,” page 282) in which clothes tell us an unabashed story that knows no time but now, even if you open the pages of this magazine ten years from today._

_Louis Tomlinson_

_Editor in Chief_

****  


Kissing Harry seems to be both the best and the worst thing Louis could have done.

After what seems like an eternity of just breathing Harry in, Louis’ hands roaming around Harry’s torso and back, getting tangled in Harry’s hair, they trudge back into the building, their smiles a little more noticeable even to the most oblivious of those around them.

Harry goes back to finishing his article, and Louis excuses himself to a few meetings which serve as nothing but a welcome distraction to what he’s now come to know as a ‘Harry world’ that’s formed in his mind.

The first time Zayn spots Louis after the kissing escapade, he takes one look at him and bursts out laughing, heavy breaths of air escaping his mouth.

‘I can’t fucking believe this.’ He pats Louis on the back, getting up from the chair that’s placed in the corner of his office, overlooking a different part of the city from the one Louis sees every day.

‘We are not going to talk about this. Not here. These walls have ears. And I’m not stirring up any Conde Nast drama.’

Louis exhales, not ready to think about consequences.

‘Oh you stirred the shit up good already. Got his knickers in a twist. You are gonna have hot sex, you two.’ Zayn’s smirk is evident even though he’s currently got his back turned towards Louis, turning over papers in what seems a rush to find something.

When he turns around, he’s thrusting a paper in front of Louis’ face.

‘I have worked out a way to shoot both Alexa and Florence in one go. I’ll go next week. Should leave you with enough time to get the issue to print with no bother.’

Louis can see Sabine’s the one that worked it all out, her distinctive way of writing evident on a single-sheet spread. He remembers it’s soon time to let her go, her two years on first a junior and then senior assistant position coming up. A wave of urgency rushes over him, and he nods at Zayn, telling him they’re behind on November and December too.

‘I know. Don’t think just because you kissed someone, or fucked someone, or God forbid spent time with someone, this all will collapse.’ Zayn’s look is stern when he locks his eyes on Louis’ face and doesn’t falter, taking a few steps before stopping directly in front of his best friend.

‘It’s always hectic. It never will not be. Doesn’t mean you should maintain this charade where you pretend like there’s only one dimension to Louis Tomlinson.’

‘I don’t know if I can keep this pace up.

‘You don’t have to keep anything up. There’s two hundred people working for you. They know your ways by now. They know how tough you are. The issue won’t be any less spectacular if Harry Styles is fucking you after working hours.’

When Louis still seems lost, for words and for a solution, Zayn closes the distance between them by placing his hands on Louis’ shoulders.

‘You’ve met Harry Styles and switched up the entire issue to do the first themed publication in forever. It’s big.’

Louis nods at that. His mind in more turmoil than ever, but he pushes his doubts to the back and after splaying a quick kiss to Zayn’s cheek that leaves Zayn melodramatically feigning fainting, he strolls back into the office.

Harry is standing in front of the immense window on the right, his silhouette fitting better than it should in Louis’ office.

He looks powerful, and lost in thought. Louis’ mind goes to the word ‘home’, but he doesn’t dwell on it, instead clears his throat.

Harry straightens out his back at that and throws his head around so he faces Louis. His face paints a serene picture.

‘I’m done with what you’ve asked me to do.’ Harry seems pliant, and there’s uncertainty to his voice.

‘Let’s see it then.’ Louis smiles, casting a glance at Harry’s laptop.

He prints Harry’s work and sits down in his chair, picking up his glasses in preparation for reading.

It’s exciting, Harry’s writing. Compelling and easy to read; filled with highbrow humor. It focuses on why Brits are considered cold, yet cool, and at the same time contemporary. He sees Harry’s love for his country in between the lines, but there’s also a hint of something unsettling, a lost soul in the text. Louis can’t put his finger on it, but it definitely reads as more than just praise for the place he was born.

‘Have you ever lived outside London, Harry?’

It may be the first openly personal question Louis has asked him until now.

‘Stockholm, L.A., Melbourne. All for six months to a year. I also spent a few months in Tokyo.’

Ah yes, the one who never really settles.

‘Is that why you have birds tattooed on your chest? Because you can’t keep still either?’

Harry looks at him, long and questioning. After Louis lets out a few breaths, Harry sits down across from him. He doesn’t answer.

\---------------------

It’s the first time Louis has been faced with this particular problem, the question of what exactly to wear to go dancing.

Harry kept his word and texted him yesterday evening to provide him with details of where they were going.

It was an unfamiliar name, a club called Subrosa in the Meatpacking District, which after consulting the internet Louis discovered was a latin music club known for its ‘wild live performances and vivid atmosphere’.

Louis was expecting something like Up&Down or The Happy Ending, one of the posh addresses in Manhattan, but apparently when Harry said they were going dancing he really meant swaying their hips and locking their arms to the rhythm of music.

He meant actual dancing.

Louis opts for an almost timid look, something he would usually refrain from most nights. He likes when his ensemble pops, yes pops, and every eye is on him.

Tonight, he goes for all black, and when he looks at himself in the mirror, he realizes eyes might not be drawn to him because of loud prints or exceptional styling, but simply by the fact he looks good.

He’s got a Givenchy black shirt on, the silver metal studs working wonders on the soft cotton along the collar and shoulders. It’s tight on him, fitting his body nicely and he tucks it up in slim-fit jersey Lanvin trousers. He wouldn’t normally go for brogues in this scenario, chelsea boots a much better option, but he gives in when he thinks of the fact he will likely be dancing.

_(Louis' look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/dfe540cb7f247fdc2284d79bf2b804d1/tumblr_ntfwxzWsPY1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/abd30311898e4f871fec1a903b322fe7/tumblr_ntfwxzWsPY1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d6199ea499ab294b46cfe5a11d448f76/tumblr_ntfwxzWsPY1tawb72o2_500.jpg))_

After getting touched up by his hair and make-up team, which consists of a blonde duo of men who have been working for him exclusively ever since he came to Vogue, and them letting out wolf whistles when he gets up to leave, he almost skips out of his apartment to where there’s a driver waiting for him at the curb.

Louis realizes the emotions running through his veins are all positive: giddiness and a rush of excitement. No fear, or anxiety.

He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a date, but he feels safe tonight, knowing he’ll always have a topic to talk about with Harry, and in his gut he knows there will also be fun included.

The nerves still haven’t kicked in even when he sees Harry in front of the club, his long legs crossed in front of him as he leans on a railing in front of one of the buildings. He looks equally calm and collected, matching Louis’ demeanour, although his outfit is rather forceful.

Louis hops out of the car, trying to be as dignified as he can, and walks over to where Harry’s standing, a broad smile evident on his face.

‘Are you wearing Westwood?’ Louis blurts out instead of a greeting.

‘It was fitting.’

Louis can’t disagree. If they are really going to bust out the moves to samba, a loud Vivienne Westwood print is the way to go.

‘You look like a glam snake.’ After a second of just pointedly looking at Harry, he adds. ‘A sexy snake.’

Harry’s mouth quirks up at that, and he’s looking down at Louis with a private smile. His hand travels down to Louis’ back and he rests it on the dip just above the curve of Louis’ ass.

‘Oh there’s a  snake in my pants, Tomlinson. You can be sure of that.’

Louis is on a date with a first class idiot.

An idiot who looks like he just came off the runway, the silk pants in burgundy with rich orange print details hanging loose of his toned legs. He’s wearing a white printed tank top on top of it, blotches of green and orange mixed together.

(Harry's look: [whole](https://41.media.tumblr.com/88995b5e2fc69913e77d1cc2fb65994c/tumblr_ntfx17MqXB1tawb72o1_540.jpg))

Louis gives a delayed laugh at Harry’s flirty outburst but doesn’t offer further comment, nudging his head towards the entrance.

‘Are we really doing this?’ He looks at the sign of the club written in neon letters, music already pouring in loud thumps from inside.

‘You told me I could take you dancing.’ Harry laces their fingers together, and playfully starts to sway their linked hands. ‘So we are going to dance.’

They enter what’s an uncommonly small space for a club, dimmed lights and a familiar humidity Louis associates with nightlife hitting them as soon they set foot inside. There is a long wooden sturdy bar to their right, and a stage set up before them at the end of the room, tables thrown around the space here and there, but it’s mostly just a dance floor stretching wide ahead and to the sides.

A number of people are already dancing, sweaty and smiling with their heads thrown back and arms loosely connected as they move their bodies fiercely to the strong beat of the music.

Louis can feel Harry’s already moving his hips next to him, but Louis directs them both to the bar, in desperate need of at least one tequila in his system before he embarasses himself.

They get double shots and toast to an incredible night, and the bartender advises them to try the house special, Cuba Libre with a twist. Louis is not a rum guy, but Harry nods his head before he can speak up and there is soon a taste of coke and rum in his mouth.

‘If you can down this in one go, I might just kiss you.’ Harry murmurs into his ear, and rests his hand high up Louis’ thigh.

This man seems to know every single one of Louis’ flaws. Not being able to say no to a challenge being chief among them.

He picks his glass up and waits for Harry to do the same before he counts them off and they begin toswallow their drinks in large gulps. He finishes before Harry, because he’s nothing if not the best at whatever he sets his mind to.

Harry’s eyes are hungry when he draws Louis in and his mouth is hungrier when he gets a taste of Louis on his lips. Tequila and rum jumbled with a hint of mint.

Louis’ head spins as Harry’s lips part, their open mouths pressed together and moving hot and bothered. Harry doesn’t take his time with it, attacking Louis and tasting his lips before dipping his tongue into Louis’ mouth.

Louis’ knees feel weak faced with the strength of such a kiss, waves of built-up energy and frustration rushing over him, and he grips Harry’s arm for leverage before he slides his lips more forcefully against Harry’s.

They part only when someone accidentally bumps into them, the dance floor having filled with people while they weren’t paying attention.

Harry smacks his lips obscenely, his tongue sneaking out to wet them, and he grins wildly at Louis, once again finding his hand and gluing them together.

He takes off straight to the heart of the dance floor, rocking his hips as he makes his way through the crowd. It’s a pretty sight, Harry’s hips narrow and his torso making a perfect V line stretching down all the way to the longest legs Louis has ever seen.

When they find themselves surrounded by two elderly couples and a two girls who seem to be professionals, Harry draws close and faces Louis, displaying another one of his wild smiles. He lifts the hand he’s been holding Louis with, in the appropriate dance position and places his other on Louis’ waist firmly, squeezing a bit to get Louis to hold him in return.

Once Louis’ hand is placed on Harry’s shoulder, Harry sets off on a wild half-run, half-dance, parading Louis around other couples and twirling them as he goes.

Louis doesn’t even have time to catch his breath, and they are already dancing, the four-step rhythm a struggle for both of them. They keep going, Harry having absolutely no idea what it is he should be doing but making up for it in enthusiasm.

As Harry keeps twirling them, the loud bass pounding in Louis’ ears, Louis wonders if Harry went on Youtube earlier today and looked for the ‘How to dance’ tutorials.

It would explain, well, all of it. The wrong stomping of the feet and fact they almost tumble down every few paces.

But the thing is, Louis can’t seem to mind being a part of the idiocy, even if it’s really true and Harry really is winging this. He’s having too much fun, his head tilted back in breathless laughter and Harry’s body pressed hot against him.

He just grasps Harry’s shoulder a bit tighter and twists his head at the next swing to the left, letting out a big gulp of air that seems to contain all the anxiety and worry he has been holding inside for the last few days.  Every fear about the next issues, about how they will be perceived. The imperfections in the photos. The writing and re-writing of his editor’s letter. He breathes all of it out on the next spin. Concentrates instead on the green of Harry’s eyes, bright in front of him.

They make it for a few rounds, each songer more vivid than the last, and the crowd gets looser, people switching up partners and smiling pleasantly at each other.

Louis feels like this is the most fun he’s had since Rome and the night they spent getting drunk and playing high school games, but this time it’s different, the alcohol nothing but an enabler at the beginning, now long dissipated in sweat.

It’s exhilarating, and Louis’ heart is a thumping mess, his hair sticking to his forehead and shirt drenched in sweat in the back.

They get a new round of cocktails and Harry kisses him again, and Louis has a feeling he’s doing it now just because he knows he can.

It’s not as wild this time, more playful, and Louis lets himself bite at Harry’s lip and suck at his tongue until there’s no more force behind it and he goes lax from the effort to keep up with the bass of the music and the magnetic presence that’s Harry next to him.

They are so close Louis feels as if they’re one, Harry’s stomach moving against his whenever he takes a breath.

‘I would love to go for another round.’

Louis can certainly think of some other round he’d like to go for soon, and he decides he won’t stop himself from saying so.

No interruptions. Not tonight.

‘Before I take you to bed?’ He leans in close and sneaks his hand underneath Harry’s shirt, feeling the damn skin on his back.

Harry’s eyes are wide when Louis looks up at him.

‘Fuck yes.’

It’s all foreplay after that as they rush back to the dance floor.

They take fewer steps and twirl less now, Louis scooting himself closer to Harry so that he can feel  how worked up he is with every move they make.

The more they dance, the less coordinated it is; Louis’ hand roaming Harry’s sides and every so often tangling in his hair and tugging, making Harry shudder against him.

Both of them are sweaty and Louis can feel Harry is hard beneath the silk of his pants, turning Louis on even more.

It strikes Louis how natural it is with the two of them at this point, the silent progression from the kissing to touching and what Louis knows will be a great fuck later.

He didn’t expect this date to end as anything really, but now it is obvious they can’t keep their hands off each other, like it’s some sort of law of nature.

Harry dips him low when the song comes to an end and Louis kisses him with force, pushing his tongue in Harry’s mouth instantly and linking his hands behind Harry’s neck for leverage.

When Harry lifts him back up, he lets one of his hands roam all over Harry’s chest down his stomach and he cups Harry’s hard dick in his hand, just holding his open palm gently over the length.

They’re standing obscenely close and there is no way anyone can notice what he’s doing except if looking at Harry’s face. He’s falling apart right there, his eyes closed as he lets out a shivery breath in Louis’ hair.

Louis has to get this show moving.

‘Let’s just fucking go.’

He shifts his palm from Harry’s dick to take his hand and tugs him gently towards the exit.

They somehow end up pressed against the outside wall of the club, not a soul around them and wind messing with their clothes as Harry pants at Louis’ neck while Louis sucks on his earlobe and his hands trace patterns over Harry’s torso.

Louis decides he can’t wait for the town car to come so he just hails them a cab, and they’re kissing all the way to his place, Louis leaving a hundred with the driver so he can climb out of the car without having to unglue himself from Harry’s skin.

'There’s a smirk in the doorman’s eyes when he opens the door for them, but Louis doesn’t care.

He feels like if there was an earthquake this second and the Earth shattered to pieces, he would be just fine. What he needs is right next to him anyway, so he just keeps going, pushing Harry into the lift and attacking his mouth again.

They’re at the threshold before there is much time to do anything but kiss sloppily and Louis opens the door for Harry, crowding him in the open space of the living room, dim lights turning on as Harry steps inside.

Louis looks up to where Harry’s hovering over him and they just stare for a while. Harry’s smiling, like he’s in on a secret and Louis isn’t, but it’s more playful than mean and it’s easy for Louis to tilt his head forwards and open his mouth to let his breath travel across Harry’s lips.

When Harry closes the distance and presses a short, quick kiss, it’s as though he’s experimenting, and it’s chaste and reminds Louis of first kisses he shared with boys back in high school.

Harry backs away, just a slight movement of his head and he licks his lips.

‘Fuck.’

Louis can see stars in his eyes and he wonders what Harry can see when looking so attentively back at him, and he’s too high on adrenaline and he’s not afraid to ask. He’s hard by now, the feeling of his pants tight around him driving him crazy.

‘What do you see in my eyes, Harry?’

‘Everything.’

It’s like diving into deep, deep water after that, Louis taking Harry’s head in his hands, and bringing him in to kiss with intent this time, opening his mouth and sucking Harry’s tongue in instantly.

Harry lets out a breathy moan, and his right hand cups Louis’ ass and squeezes, and it goes straight to Louis’ dick. He’s on fire and freefalling at the same time, and when Harry’s other hand comes under Louis’ chin and he pushes it up with the tips of his fingers in order to get a better angle, he starts almost fucking Louis’ mouth with his tongue.

It’s fast and it’s hot, Louis’ hands roaming over Harry’s torso and abdomen all the while he swirls his tongue around Harry’s and Harry is panting already, out of breath with the intensity.

Somehow they’ve ended up pressed up against the door and Louis feels Harry shudder when his back hits the wood with a thud. Louis’ eyes drift to Harry’s torso and his strong arms and he feels so incredibly hot, like he’s hit the jackpot and this man that’s sex on legs is ruined just from Louis’ mouth on his.

Harry’s fucking gorgeous and he wants Louis, and there’s nothing that turns Louis on more than knowing he turned Harry on.

His ego’s floating on clouds and he is hard.So, so hard he could come from just rutting up a bit against Harry’s legs.

‘Holy shit you’re hot. Better than any model.’

Louis’ hand travels down from where it’s been firmly placed in between Harry’s pecs to where his fly is, and he squeezes a bit. Harry’s packing, porn material even, and it makes Louis feel like they’re in one of The Weeknd’s songs, only they’re high just from breathing each other, no substance as good as this. He inclines his body closer, and he can feel Harry’s abs contracting when he exhales, and all he can think is that he’s so fucking hard.

‘You would know.’

Harry’s eyelids are halfway to closed but his gaze is piercing, his face twisted with want. He looks erotic, no other way to put it.Like he’ll bend Louis in half from how much he needs him.

‘Show me how much.’

It’s all the encouragement Harry needs and he presses his hands to each side of Louis’ neck, squeezing hard and it’s insane how strong he presses, but it sends shivers all over Louis.

He could honestly come on command from Harry.

Louis thinks he should feel scared about how much of Harry there is, how much bigger he is, but Louis feels even more in control, the sharp bolt of pain pumping his cock. It’s already leaking a bit of pre-come.

When Louis realizes they’re still dressed he feels the least excited he’s ever felt about clothes in his life.

‘Off. Now.’

He nips at Harry’s neck and when Harry moans, fucking moans from only Louis’ teeth grazing in between his shoulder and collarbone, Louis bites in hard and doesn’t let go.

Harry squirms but calms down as soon as Louis slides his hand down to cup his achingly hard dick, and Louis makes slow, thorough work of it, biting at Harry’s skin and then lapping at it with his tongue, the sounds echoing in the quiet room.

He does it three times before he even looks at his work and after he sees a blotching red bruise already forming on the spot, he tugs at Harry’s shirt and the buttons pop, Louis’ hands pushing it across his shoulders and then he’s removing his jumper over his head and they’re chest to chest now, Louis going in it for another hard kiss, biting at Harry’s bottom lip.

Harry loses it then and he’s making grabby hands at Louis’ trousers, not quite concentrated enough to actually unzip them so he just reaches down to take his own off.

They slip down his legs as soon as he pops the button, the silk sliding over the hairs on Harry’s infinite legs.

‘You should fuck me.’

It’s raw and honest the way Louis looks at Harry when he says it, Harry tugging of his socks and shoes and just looking in open awe at Louis when he does the same.

He waits until Louis lifts his head to catch him with both hands, cupping his cheeks and kissing him wild, as if all the time in the world is going to run out and they’ve got nothing to lose.

Harry’s hand runs down Louis back and with his open palm his presses firmly, gently guiding Louis so he’s splayed out on the floor.

‘Stuff. We need…. yeah.’

He is breathless. Completely out of it and his dick is a mess laying hard against his stomach, a shade of angry red.

‘Nightstand,’ Louis pants and his head hits the rug. He lifts his arms above his head and curls his hands firmly in his hair, knowing Harry’s fingers are gonna ruin him and he doesn’t want to get his hand on his cock yet because he might come right there and then.

Harry comes back and wastes no time bending Louis’ knees and pushing them far apart roughly so he gets a good angle at Louis’ hole as he pushes one slick finger in.

‘You’re already better than anyone I’ve ever been with. And I haven’t even fucked you yet.’ Harry’s voice is low and raspy, and just as the words leave his mouth he pushes another finger in, making Louis feel full. So, so full.

‘Arrrrrghhh.’  The strangled sound is all Louis can manage.

‘Fuck, you feel so tight.’

Harry bends over so he can catch Louis’ lips with his own, his tongue sloppily rummaging around and teeth grazing over Louis’ lips.

‘So hot.’

He pushes a third finger in, all the way up to the third knuckle and curls all three fingers, making them dance until he finds that spot and Louis’ losing it, thrashing on the floor, his cock bouncing heavily on his stomach.

‘You are so hot, Louis.'

Louis moans louder when Harry presses against his prostate again, and there’s hunger written all over his face.

Harry takes it as a sign and hoists Louis up as soon as he’s got a condom on, and Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist like second nature, sneaking his arms around Harry’s neck and wrapping them in a tight grip, making Harry wince in pain when they press on the spot where the bruise Louis marked is.

Louis looks fucked out of this world, and they haven’t even started yet.

Harry takes two long strides to the wall but changes his mind, turning around and making his way towards the giant window overlooking the lights of the city beneath them.

His dick is bouncing, nudging Louis’ entrance lightly with every step and Louis grinds on it, impatient.

‘So needy, fuck.’

‘Fuck me, Harry. Wreck me above the most powerful city in the world.’

Harry hisses and hoists him up a bit, and when he presses Louis against the glass, he doesn’t wait, just pushes in all the way.

He's huge, filling Louis up in a way that feels so good. It burns a bit, but Louis doesn’t mind, not when it’s Harry holding his ass so firmly and throwing him around like a toy.

‘Fuck, Harry, fuck me.’

Harry pushes all the way in again, roughly, without holding back, and Louis fucking loses it, letting out loud moans.

‘Motherfucking shit.’

Louis chases Harry’s mouth to shut himself up as Harry thrusts fast, picking up the tempo, the leverage of the window making it possible for him to push in deep and hit Louis’ spot every time.

They’re both sweaty as Harry thrusts and Louis’ back is sliding slightly across the window with every push and it’s painful for both of them, Harry holding Louis up and Louis’ legs burning from the strain.  Louis can feel the cold press of the glass against his back, and the inferno of Harry’s heat in front and around and inside of him.

It’s the most amazing feeling, the burn and the pain overwhelming Louis and it magnifies the pleasure that much more. Harry pumps his cock into him and he feels so full, his own cock slamming on Harry’s abs.

Louis rolls his eyes when Harry stops after a fast, long thrust and stays inside him  He slowly starts fucking more and more into him, almost not pulling out at all, just pushing deeper with every thrust until Louis can’t take it anymore and his thighs start trembling from the pressure.

There’s heavy drops of sweat trickling down Harry’s arms as his biceps contract with each thrust and he’s producing these low, animalistic sounds, like he can’t help himself.

‘Make me come, now.’

And Harry can’t remove his hands to jerk him off from where they’re holding Louis’ bum in place so he thrusts hard and fast again and bites at Louis’ jaw.

‘So hot for me.’

Louis’ back hurts from the hard glass and his legs are giving up on him, but it’s forgotten when Harry continues in a low voice.

‘I’m fucking the most powerful man in New York. Look at you, you make me feel weak from how gorgeous you are.’

It’s that and Harry’s hard, hard kiss that gets him over the edge when Harry pushes in one last time, and Louis is letting out a long stream of curses while his stomach is painted white with a heavy load of come.

Harry’s just looking at him, still shallowly pushing in, staring at Louis’ bitten face and heavy eyelids, his eyes losing any trace of blue. Louis’ face is flushed, and sweaty, his cheeks hollow as he sucks the air in his lungs and Harry’s not gonna make it with this man riding him in a standing position.

Louis unwraps one of his hands from Harry’s neck and he feeds two fingers to Harry who sucks like his life depends on it, bitten lips raw on Louis’ fingers while Louis bounces grinding down on his dick, and then Harry’s coming too, inside Louis, and he can feel it, his insides going hot from how good it feels.

They are on the floor as soon as Harry is done riding his high and he’s trembling next to Louis. His legs have completely given up and Louis can’t stretch his either so they just lay there, panting, for what seems like an eternity.

There’s flickering lights coming from the window and Louis tries to synchronize his breathing with the way they move.

He turns his head to the left where Harry’s breathless next to him and his hair is spread around his head like a halo, eyes closed. He looks so peaceful, fucked and dreamy, and Louis desperately wants to keep him.

Instead, he clears his throat and Harry’s lazy in turning around and when he opens his eyes his mouth is one big grin, teeth tucked in and lips stretched.

‘We should move this to the bed,’ Louis finds himself saying.

It’s a surprise, because he’s not the first-hookup-sleepover type. The last time someone slept in his bed was Zayn, but Zayn’s different and Zayn’s as far from complicated as it gets.

But he’s already slept with Harry, and every night since then he imagines Harry’s hands sneaking around his waist and anchoring him, keeping him safe.

He’d be a fool not to have it again.

‘You’re letting me cuddle you again?’ Harry’s all sleepy, his words coming out slow and irregular.

Instead of answering, Louis pushes up using his core muscles, leaning on his elbow as he turns towards Harry. He presses his lips to Harry’s, close-mouthed and fast.

‘Yeah.’

And then he’s scrambling up the floor and closing the distance to the bed, removing the extra pillows and placing them on the sofa at the bottom of the bed, and tucking himself in to the right side of the bed, the ivory duvet swallowing him in.

Harry watches him silently as he does, and waits until Louis’ head hits the pillow and he’s snuggled in to walk over to the other side of bed. He abandons all pretense of distance right away, splaying himself over Louis’ back and drawing him in by the waist so they’re nestled in the middle of the king-sized bed and the whiteness is surrounding them from all sides.

Harry captures Louis hand in his and locks their fingers so they are splayed over Louis’ abdomen.

‘That was the best sex of my life.’

Louis just smiles, and Harry can feel it, Louis’ cheeks lifting when his mouth quirks up, so he tightens the grip and Louis gives into him completely.

Louis’ mind is a whirlwind and he’s chanting a quiet: ‘You got me to break so many of my rules tonight. I’m still not sure how you did it,’ into the pillow, but he knows Harry heard him when he kisses his shoulder, just a wet drag of his lips across naked skin.

Maybe, just maybe, there are moments in your life when you realize a bit of rearranging can’t fix it any more. Maybe sometimes you have to embrace the storm and throw your life into chaos in order to make sense of things.

Maybe Harry is Louis’ chaos.

He drifts off to sleep with the rhythm of Harry’s exhales steady in his ears and his thoughts replaying the feel of Harry inside him.

\--------------

Louis wakes up to Harry’s tongue nudging his lips. He opens his mouth on instinct, before even thinking about opening his eyes and Harry doesn’t waste a second to push his tongue in Louis’ mouth, swirling around and then sucking on it.

Louis starts thinking about morning breath, but then Harry’s biting his lip, a lot tougher than just playfully and he can feel the skin there break almost instantly and there’s traces of blood on his tongue.

Harry sucks on his bottom lip, lapping with his mouth on the part where the skin has broken and he’s so hard where he’s pressed up against Louis’ leg.

Louis whimpers as Harry starts rubbing his hands up and down Louis’ sides. He doesn’t touch his cock at all and Louis can feel himself filling up, blood rushing through his veins.

Harry whispers a dirty ‘Good morning’ in his ear and then he moves down, kissing and licking on Louis’ neck. Louis is already so turned on and his dick twitches every time Harry’s tongue licks over his neck.

Harry stops and looks at him, biting his lip. ‘I’m going to suck you now.’

He moves down, past the point where Louis is completely hard now, his dick laying heavy against his stomach, waiting to be touched. Harry starts kissing and licking on his inner thighs, teasing him. Louis hisses whenever Harry lets his teeth graze over his skin but Harry doesn’t bite, grabbing Louis’ dick in his hand slowly stroking it.

‘Do you like the way my hand feels? Your dick feels so good, I need to taste it.’

Louis only answer come in a string of ‘mmpphh’s’ and his hips buck up, giving away how much he wants it. Harry’s hand is firm on his hip as he pushes Louis down into the mattress.

‘Be still for me. I’m gonna blow you so good.’ Harry’s just holding him in his huge hand now, breathing over the head as he looks up at Louis.

‘You gonna come on my face?’

His hair is a mess already from kissing Louis’ thighs and his pupils are blown.

‘Shit.’

‘Answer me, Louis.’ He strokes once, and then he squeezes the head just a bit, and Louis has a hard time not bucking his hips up again.

‘Yeah, gonna come all over your face. Gonna fuckin ruin you, you’ll look so good.’

‘Fuck.’ And then Harry’s giving him another tease, licking the head of Louis’ dick in a circular motion while he covers the rest with his hand and continues stroking it slowly.

He licks the base next, getting it all nice and wet, and he’s not bothering himself with looking pretty, giving it all he has to make it good for Louis.

Once he’s given attention to the base of Louis’ dick he goes back to the head, putting it in his mouth and sucking.

Harry’s good at this. So good that when he’s sucking the head, he splays his tongue on the underside and licks and Louis’ hips snap, and all of a sudden he’s filling Harry’s mouth.

Harry looks up and smirks, his hair all over his face and there’s spit across his jaw.

‘You like it?’

Christina Aguilera’s ‘Dirty’ starts playing in Louis’ head and he wants to stay here in this moment, his dick in Harry’s hand while Harry’s ruined mouth talks to him about how much he enjoys it.

‘Don’t stop, fuck. Don’t stop.’

Harry spits on his dick, and there’s pre-come and spit all over the shaft. It’s messy and wet and Harry licks his hand and grasps him then, pumping slowly.

Louis’ eyes roll to the back of his head and he’s panting now, fast whimpers coming out of him as Harry takes him in his mouth again.

He’s still stroking stroking the base with his hand, sucking and licking, spitting on the head. As Louis starts thrashing around, Harry swallows him down in full and Louis moans loud, his mind going blank.

‘You wanna fuck my mouth?’ Harry asks, his voice low and ruined.

Just the thought of it nearly pushes Louis over the edge. ‘Ahh, yes. Fuck yes.’

And Harry goes back to take him into his mouth, swallowing around him again and then bobbing his head as he draws back so only the head is in his mouth. Louis’ hips buck up at that and he thrusts in, Harry’s mouth hot and wet, perfect around him and it’s all too much.

Harry takes him, his moans vibrating around Louis’ dick as he swallows around him, and Harry can feel Louis is close by how sloppy he gets with his thrusts, pushing in fast and shallow.

He draws his head back and licks the sides of Louis dick, and then pushes it so it rests on his stomach and works on the underside, all the while Louis is letting out loud moans.

‘I wanna taste you , please come for me, Louis. Want to taste it so bad.’

And Louis looks at him as Harry pumps him fast with one hand, and palming himself with the other, not able to focus on his own cock with how focused he is on Louis’ pleasure.

‘Come for me, please.’

Harry’s jaw is open and there’s spit all over his face mixed with pre-come and Louis is pushed over the edge staring at how fucked out he looks.

Louis spurts long white lines all over Harry’s tongue and cheeks, and Louis letting out long moans as he comes for what seems like forever, Harry swallowing around him.

When Louis regains consciousness, Harry’s splayed next to him on his stomach, a blissed out expression on his face.

‘Did you come when you blew me?’ Louis asks in surprise.

‘You have no idea how good you look. You fucking ruined me.’

‘Fuck.’

He gapes at Harry, who gives the impression of being high from how his jaw is hanging low, propped up on his elbows and blinking slow, as though every time he closes his eyes the energy would seep from him and leave him even more breathless.

Louis feels the same way, after a round of getting thrown around like a rag doll for what seems like hours yesterday and being woken up more passionate, mind-blowing sex. It’s draining, and he feels spent, Harry’s body a better workout than any morning run.

Not able to help himself, he throws Harry a private smile that spreads slowly across his face and fills his eyes, and he immediately gets a mirrored image in return, Harry’s grin so wide that his eyes are reduced to slits as he uses his upper body strength to crawl closer to Louis so they’re face to face.

They’re both panting, still, even minutes after riding out their high and when Harry places his hand on Louis face and kisses him gently, Louis can do nothing more than just breathe him in and lazily mould his lips against Harry’s.

It’s intimate, the sound of the rain sweeping over New York and Harry’s hair damp from sweat, tickling Louis’ neck.

‘What do you say if we just sleep some more?’ Harry draws out, resting his forehead against Louis’ and exhaling deeply, reminding Louis of their run together and when he told Harry to breathe.

Memories they didn’t know at the time they were building are swirling around the room and Louis lungs feel heavy, filled with something he can recognize as affection and the feeling of belonging, something he hasn’t been longing for since high school.

It’s good, keeping him on the tips of his toes, his blood heating up and running madly under his skin, but somehow keeping his gaze on Harry’s regular facial features and his steady, green eyes lulls him into a sense of serenity.

‘Mhm. I could definitely sleep next to you.’

The sheets are all rumpled between them, the bed chaotic after Harry moved like a storm all over Louis’ body.

Harry draws him in close, and Louis’ lips are now tracing patterns between his collarbones, hair sparse there and skin silky.

Louis feels like he’s home, Harry’s heartbeat the measure of time and his arms Louis’ safe haven.

He stays like that for a bit, trying to remember as much as he possibly can, the way the room gets darker with the rain pouring outside, a small scar just beneath Harry’s left nipple and slight irregular stubble on his chin.

Just as he feels himself drifting off, he forces himself to move around without once breaking the circle of  Harry’s arms folded tight around him, and he finally falls asleep to Harry’s chest rising and falling soundly against his back, their bodies bundled up together as if they are one.

\----

Louis doesn’t go to Florence’s shoot for Vogue. No, that would be stalking. Highly inappropriate.

He dreams he does go, though. As the morning pours to the afternoon slowly and his breathing matches with Harry’s as they’re peaceful together under the covers, the images of her fiery hair blur behind his eyelids and there’s Zayn’s voice in the background echoing orders about how to pose.

When he wakes up it’s to Harry snoring quietly next to him, his hair spread on the pillow like a halo and his tanned skin a contrast to ivory sheets Louis purchased in Frette when he felt like splurging.

After contemplating his options for a few long minutes, he gets distracted by the way Harry’s hair curls more extensively towards the ends and how there’s tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose where his eyes meet his cheeks. Louis lifts his arm to trace his fingers over the shadows that Harry’s eyelashes form on his face but he changes his mind at the last minute, not sure if he’s allowed.

He knows Harry wouldn’t mind being woken up by it. But Louis is just not sure how he feels about it.

Instead he swings his legs over the bed and quietly pads to where his Mac is resting on the white wooden desk and goes back to nestle with it next to Harry’s sleeping form.

Florence is having a concert in Brooklyn tonight.

Louis turned Sabine down when she emailed him the offer to book tickets for him a while ago. It had stung, the feeling of not having someone to go with.

He’d debated asking some of his friends, but the only person he would be comfortable going to see Florence with was Zayn, and Zayn was already booked for the night.

His fingers drum against the soft sheets as he sings under his breath, brain still foggy.

He surprises even himself when he texts Sabine to get him the tickets after all.

He’s not sure how it is that the feeling of knowing Harry Styles seems to be more than enough after a meager few weeks since meeting him, but he knows his heart isn’t wrong.

If there’s anyone he would trust to bring to see his heart’s desire, it’s the man sleeping next to him.

Louis puts the Mac and his phone on the white nightstand with silver embroidery on the top and curls himself next to Harry’s sleeping form so he’s facing him directly.

His hand goes to fetch Murakami’s book, lying on the floor next to him, because it’s what he turns to when he’s lost or contemplative or just searching for words he cannot find.

Right now he’s feeling all of it, the emotions swirling inside of him, and he feels like a hurricane standing still.

He reads a few lines and then takes a breather just looking at Harry. He’s so peaceful and it makes Louis melt with the want to glue himself to him and never let him go.

Rinse and repeat.

For what seems like hours he’s captured by the rhythm of Harry’s steady breathing, mixed with lyrics he hums.

_‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil in me_

_Looking for heaven, found the devil in me_

_Well what the hell I’m gonna let it happen to me, yeah’_

He doesn’t really stir until there’s a ping of his phone on his left. It’s Sabine informing him he’s on the list under Tomlinson and it’s a plus one.

It’s what gets Harry to wake up, too, and Louis is met with two smudgy patches of green, dreams still written in the tiny creases of his irises.

‘You think you would be open to accompanying me to a concert tonight?’

Harry’s voice falters when he speaks up. ‘Is it Florence?’

Well shit. Harry Styles the magician and editor, everybody.

‘How did you know?’

Louis voice doesn’t tremble when he speaks, and there’s certainly no wonder in his eyes.

‘It’s literally all you play. Not to mention you sang half of her album under your breath that first time we went for drinks in Paris. And yesterday you halfway screamed the line to What Kind Of Man loudly to Zayn’s face when he wouldn’t agree with you.’

Harry smiles. That bastard.

‘You are singing it now, Louis.’ Louis can read endearment written across his face and there’s a hint of it in the way he says his name. ‘Do you even recognize it yourself?’

Sun is playing hide and seek on Harry’s face. He’s halfway to glowing and he’s still sleepy, the tone of his voice low and he’s still a bit drowsy, remaining in the position he was sleeping in, on his stomach with his face pressed against the pillow.

‘Well you snore. So we’re even.’

Harry’s laughter is muffled by the pillow but it still sounds lively in the room.

‘Not sure. I think I need some convincing.’ His smile stretches wider with every word.

Louis knows this is supposed to be cheeky but it comes off more as cute, with Harry barely keeping his eyes open and his gaze unsteady.

‘Oh yeah? And how should I accomplish that?’ He scoots closer at that, so he’s almost hovering over Harry, and he can feel Harry’s breath flutter.

Louis lets his gaze travel over Harry’s features openly, the way he scrutinizes clothes on the runway, but his eyes are much warmer now, no doubt in the way he appreciates Harry’s form, the way his features look angelic under the soft light.

Louis gives in to his instincts and his hand is gentle when it meets Harry’s chin, the touch of his fingers feathery when he traces the jawline.

It’s one of Louis’ favourite features ever since he first laid his eyes on Harry, how strong his jawline looks, even if he’s just standing with his mouth closed. He doesn’t think he’ll ever look at Harry and not have his breath be taken away with how beautiful, and sexy, and powerful the man is.

Louis leans forward when Harry’s eyes turn exuberant and he catches Harry’s lips playfully. The kiss is nothing like before, and Louis feels like with this one he’s once again learning about Harry in more ways than he can describe.

Harry’s lips are soft and his breath is warm and he’s giving in more than before, his insistent mouth pushing open Louis’ lips as soon as they touch. It sends tremors down Louis’ spine and soon they are just moving alongside each other, their tongues tangled in one languid motion.

‘You’re making me dizzy.’

Harry pushes away and takes a huge gulp of air, his chest heaving.

Louis is not sure where his courage comes from all of a sudden, but he gives in. ‘I want to make you faint. I will make you faint. With my mouth all over you.’

He looks Harry in the eyes. ‘You asked for it.’

And he leans forward, capturing Harry’s lips again, forcefully.

It’s with intent this time, not just wasting time, or getting to know each other.

Louis’ mind is just one thing on a loop. Convincing Harry.

He takes Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucks lightly while he throws his right leg over his lower stomach so he can straddle him properly.

Before he kisses him again, Louis tilts his head so he’s speaking directly into Harry’s ear and his voice drops low so he’s sounding equally powerful and needy.

‘You said you needed convincing. Is it your mouth that needs convincing? Or your cock? What do you need me to focus on Harry?’

He rests his weight completely on Harry’s lap, and he can feel Harry’s hard already, just from the words Louis is firing at him.

Louis takes a chunk of Harry’s hair in his hand and yanks slightly, just enough to make Harry whimper underneath him.

‘I’m going to take care of you, baby.’ He kisses Harry’s collarbones slowly, inch by inch, and then he bites at the spot he knows hurts the most, sucking needily to get Harry on fire.

Harry’s silent, and when Louis looks up from where his lips are glued on Harry’s skin, he sees Harry’s tilted his head back and his eyes are closed.

‘What should I do with you?’ One more kiss to where there is now a formed bruise on Harry’s skin. He takes Harry’s hair in his hand again and tugs again, this time harder.

Harry is a mess underneath him, letting out a quiet moan.

‘I want to blow you so bad. But I don’t think that’s convincing enough.’ He tugs again and holds Harry’s head in place, tilted to the side so he can trace marks over Harry’s jaw with his teeth.

It’s agonizingly slow, the way Louis nibbles at inch after inch of Harry’s skin.

‘Fuck, you’re so delicious.’ He kisses him again, catching Harry’s tongue with his instantly and drawing it into his mouth. Taking charge.

‘I think I need to fuck you. Fuck you good, right into this mattress. So good you come undone baby. That should be convincing enough.’

Another kiss, forceful. ‘Answer me.’

Harry is just looking at him, like he’s not sure what it is he should say, his eyes glassy. He looks disheveled underneath Louis and Louis is riding on a high, looking at the sexiest man he’s ever met completely losing it all over again just from the words Louis is saying to him.

‘Yes.’ Harry nods, finally.  His voice broken and ragged, his breath coming in jagged huffs. ‘Yes, fuck me.’

Louis’ hands are roaming over Harry’s chest, tracing the tattoos littered over his torso and pecs and he squeezes a bit at the waist to get another shiver from Harry.

He puts his hands on Harry’s torso at that, and drags his ass lower, over the spot where Harry’s cock is leaking pre-come against his stomach and he sits between Harry’s legs.

Louis cannot not wait to give himself the pleasure of sucking Harry’s v lines, the laurels inked into his skin so they almost meet where is cock is resting. He starts over Harry’s hipbone, sucking lightly. He looks up to meet Harry’s eyes and that seems to tip him off completely, and Harry moans again, this time louder.

No restraint.

Louis goes lower at that, nibbling at Harry’s skin, and he gives in just before the right laurel ends, sucking a wide mark there. He laps at the skin with his tongue first and bites then slightly to get the blood rushing. He repeats three times before he traces his teeth over the skin to spread the blood that’s rushing under Harry’s skin.

‘Mmmmmph. Fuck.’ Harry’s voice drops, and he sounds so sexy, Louis can’t help himself so he takes Harry in his mouth, as far as it goes.

Harry’s big; exceptional even. Thick and pleasant in Louis’ mouth, and it’s with pride that Louis pushes himself lower, so he almost gags before he hollows his cheeks once and sucks. He drags his lips over Harry’s length slowly when he tilts his head back, and he stays a bit at the head, swirling his tongue and catching the pre-come on his tongue.

Harry tastes bitter and salty, but somehow Louis wants more, to push Harry over the edge soon and lick come from his stomach.

A low whine leaves Harry’s throat when Louis’ lips leave his cock and Louis smirks at that. Harry’s so responsive to every touch.

He straightens his back so he can see Harry clearly. ‘Gonna fuck you now.’ Louis’ hand finds his way to Harry’s curls and he scratches gently at Harry’s skull to get him to focus.

‘Hand me the lube and condoms, Harry. Come on, on your right.’

Harry’s both slow and rushing to get the task done, almost dropping the bottle in his haste. Louis catches it and leans over to give Harry a kiss, slowly moulding his mouth over Harry’s and grazing over Harry’s teeth with his tongue. He sucks before he pushes himself back and Harry’s a mess of whimpering sounds when Louis pushes open his legs.

Louis looks at Harry’s ass and it’s perfect, small but defined, the muscles straining with Harry’s legs bent over at the knees. He spreads the lube over Harry’s hole and pushes one finger inside.

‘Feel good baby?’ He crooks the finger when it’s all the way in so he can find Harry’s spot instantly, needing to make Harry feel good.

Harry nods at that, his hair flying around and sweat pooling on his skin. He looks fucked out already.

Louis pulls out and then pushes in again, pumping his finger slowly as he takes his own cock in his other hand. He’s been neglecting his needs, completely lost in Harry and what will make Harry feel good.

He feels like he’s on cloud nine as he adds another finger into Harry. Harry moans at that and Louis can see he’s grabbed the sheets with both his hands to keep himself steady.

Or maybe it’s to restrain himself from touching his cock.

Fuck he’s good. So responsive, and so loud.

‘What is it that you need Harry?’ Louis pushes in so both his fingers are pressed upon Harry’s prostate.

Harry thrashes at that, his mouth open as he lets out low moans. ‘More.’

‘I can give you more.’ And he pushes in the third finger, pumping Harry relentlessly. ‘I can give you my cock, baby.’

Harry’s legs are trembling, and Louis pushes his fingers in one more time before he takes them out completely and hovers over Harry to kiss him slowly, rubbing his hands over Harry’s thighs.

‘Shhhhhh. Gonna take care of you baby.’ He’s still rubbing circles over Harry’s left leg when he puts the condom on and lines himself up.

It’s exhilarating how tight Harry is when Louis pushes in slowly, and he feels dizzy with need for more, to feel closer.

‘You feel so good, Harry.’ He pushes all the way in and just stays there.

He could come from just looking at the mess that’s Harry beneath him.

Sweat, hair and whimpers.

‘Tell me what you need.’

Harry raises his head and meets his eye, his gaze glassy. ‘Fuck me, Louis.’ He lets out a breath, shaking his head. ‘Fuck me hard.’

Louis smiles, and it’s all he needs to start thrusting relentlessly into Harry.

‘You’re so tight. So good.’

He slams hard into Harry and he knows he hit his prostate with the way Harry’s knuckles turn white where he’s gripping the sheets and his legs are twitching.

He keeps up the pace, hitting the spot over and over again and watching Harry’s dick bounce every time Louis bottoms out.

‘Fuck, you’re gorgeous.’

Harry cries out at that, his pitch high. There’s tears in the corners of his eyes and Louis can see he’s close with how his dick is pooling pre-come all over his belly. He’s puffing tiny breaths of air and he looks up when Louis asks.

‘You need to come, baby?’

Harry doesn’t seem to be able to form words so he just nods, and Louis thrusts hard, the sound of his hips slamming into Harry echoing in the room.

‘Let go, Harry.’

It only takes once sentence for Harry to finally come all over himself.

He paints white stripes all over his laurels and stomach, letting out a symphony of moans.

Louis wants to lick the come off of him so badly.

Harry’s eyes are closed and he looks disheveled, so fucking glorious that it takes only two thrusts before Louis pulls out and takes off the condom so he can come all over Harry’s stomach too.

He feels high, like he’s flying and falling apart all of a sudden and he almost forgets the original thought that made him come harder than he’s ever come when topping when he tumbles on top of Harry, but he’s quick to roll to the side before he smears the come on Harry’s tummy.

Louis takes a few quick breaths and then his tongue is licking Harry’s stomach in long stripes. It should be weird, the taste of his and Harry’s come mixing in his mouth, but it’s so hot he can’t bother to dwell on it. Instead he swallows and licks what’s left and then he’s using his arms to lift himself up and catch Harry’s mouth.

‘We taste so good.’ Harry couldn’t be more right at that, and Louis just smiles, pecking him on the lips once more before he curls up on Harry’s chest and closes his eyes, giving himself a minute to recover.

Harry traces strange patterns over his back, his fingers soft.

‘I think you convinced me.’

Louis laughs at that, having forgotten the original challenge until now.

‘Yeah?’ He doesn’t bother to open his eyes, instead just licking Harry affectionately.

‘I haven’t bottomed in two years. And I have never come untouched.’ Harry’s stroking his hair lightly, and his voice is deep and drowsy.

Well, Louis is nothing if not resourceful.

‘I live to please.’ He doesn’t even try to hide his smile.

‘Florence will be fun tonight.’

Louis doesn’t want Harry’s fingers to leave his hair or the way Harry’s torso moves with every breath beneath him to ever stop.

‘Only person that would get me to go to Brooklyn.’

\------

Well Brooklyn is an even bigger pain in the ass then Louis remembers it.

The crowd for the concert stretches out forever, loud patches of people strewn across the sidewalks and cars honking.

There’s polyester everywhere Louis turns and he shudders every time there’s a sweaty arm touching him as he stands on his tiptoes as graciously as he can muster, trying to spot Harry’s mop of hair in the crowd.

Even his glasses aren’t helping him, Cutler and Gross frames making his facial features stand out even more in these surroundings. What seems to be a mix of hipsters and the same wannabes; a celebrity face here and there.

Only Florence would get him to drag his Givenchy-clad ass to this part of town. Even Donna Karan found a new venue for her show last season when Louis snorted at the schedule Sabine gave him where it was written in thick, black letter that DKNY wanted to hold their show in Brooklyn.

It’s across the bridge for a reason.

Lost in thought over whether dry cleaning will be successful enough to take care of his mesh shirt with pearl applique after tonight, he doesn’t notice Harry sneaking up on him until the man’s hands are placed firmly on his belly.

He doesn’t kiss Louis, just sways them from side to side twice before letting go and walking around him so they are face to face.

He’s glowing, sweat forming on his face and hair pulled up into a bun. As far as Louis can tell, he’s wearing one of the Japanese designers that show regularly in Paris, avant garde stretching across his defined body.

Louis can’t say he’s surprised, many choosing to dress according to the seventies vibe for the concert, but Harry taking it up a notch, going for classy and understated, but cool.

Florence would be proud.

His pants stretch incredibly in white stripes over his legs, the bottom longer and wider than what’s the custom for today’s fashion but a slight step back from the full trapeze pants. With it goes an incredibly tight jersey shirt, the first three buttons popped off so there’s room for several necklaces in all lengths, dangling on his chest.

He’s a vision, once again.

_(Harry's look:[whole](https://40.media.tumblr.com/1e0c91c9b46bf18ce24b5e418adb6772/tumblr_ntfxiagPRv1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘I have to say, you do make a fine plus one, Styles.’ Louis pats him on the hip, eyes roaming over Harry’s body in appreciation.

In return, Harry doesn’t laugh, smile timid. ‘Coming from you, that’s a compliment. An accomplishment on my part, even.’

He nods in a simple manner, letting Louis know how flattered he is.

‘But I think the real star here is you, baby.’ His fingers trail over Louis’ shirt raising goosebumps on his skin. ‘Florence can just hand you over the stage.’

It’s a fair statement, Louis’ figure an hourglass under the see-through mesh shirt. The wide sleeves come up just above his elbows, a black tank top underneath, making a contrast with the white, pearl-like applique strewn across the outer layer of fabric. His waist is framed with green soft textile, the trousers running slim in a cargo style and there are Costume National black chelsea boots on his feet, giving it a slight edge.

_(Louis' look:[shirt and tank top](https://36.media.tumblr.com/e8b4473a4bb44dbbfd52a54502940ee0/tumblr_ntfxkvYV5A1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/88a6f0729516aab2af8652d61903cbb1/tumblr_ntfxkvYV5A1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://40.media.tumblr.com/c5d0a825f9aa1f912eeb3aaaa7ad2e33/tumblr_ntfxkvYV5A1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

Louis laughs at that, slightly taken aback by how honest Harry seem to be with him consistently, but doesn’t offer a response in return, just shaking his head.

They head to the south exit where, as Sabine texted him, a certain Giuseppe was responsible for letting the VIP guests in and taking them to their respective seats.

Louis feels no regret completely skipping the huge line and going straight for the man in a black, sharp suit with too much hair product in his hair.

He can see the man recognizes him when he steps forward and he splays on a perfect fake smile, exclaiming a loud ‘Mr. Tomlinson’, head slightly thrown forward in a way of a greeting.

They get ushered inside and there is a hefty glass filled with what looks like a mojito in each of their hands just before the show starts. The VIP area is nothing more than a balcony overlooking the floor and the stage, and Harry looks ahead with what seems regret written in his eyes.

When Louis scoots closer and nudges his shoulder, Harry quickly masks his expression into a perfectly serene one.

‘Would you rather we mingle with the commoners?’ Louis smirks and takes a sip of his mojito, watching for Harry’s reaction.

‘We don’t need to.’ He’s quick to answer, but his glance gets lost in the direction of the floor that’s getting filled with people before them. ‘I just think this elitism can’t give you a proper concert experience.’

Louis doesn’t take it personally, most likely because he can’t remember the last time he was pushed and pulled in the crowd and there was beer spilled over his clothes. And how bad can it be, with Harry serving as his personal shield.

So he just mutters a simple ‘Come on then,’ and heads for the stairs, gripping his mojito tightly.

They may have his body, but he’s not surrendering his alcohol.

The room is boiling, and the crowd is already antsy, people vibrating with excitement. A quick look to his phone tells Louis the show should start just about now, and there’s loud cheers all around them just as he assumes position in the middle of the room, slightly more towards the back, but where he can still see the stage clearly.

Harry stands next to him, and Louis is grateful he isn’t trying to be that kind of couple who stands glued together at concerts, swaying and constantly kissing to the music.

Except why would he, when they are not really a couple.

They just had sex. Three times. In the span of twelve hours. Totally common behavior for two adult men.

Harry grins at him, teeth on display as Florence starts singing and the audience follows, the opening chords to What The Water Gave Me making Louis shiver with feverishness.

The woman before him is free, loud and untamed, running around the stage and pulling out all the stops with the ballerina moves, not once missing a note.

Louis gets lost in her, and the music and the thousands of bodies all equally delirious around him, and the next time he glances around to Harry the only thing he can whisper is ‘She’s so beautiful’.

Harry nods, wonder and joy written all over his face.

It’s simple like that, no need to talk, Harry singing next to him and Louis gets looser with every song, singing loud when Florence asks the audience to be her choir.

At the end of the show, she stops to ask the audience to get on each other’s shoulders, and she doesn’t fear to ask once, twice, three times before Harry turns to him.

‘Come on!’ He yells as he sinks to his knees, motioning to Louis to climb on.

It’s ridiculous, and childish, and a very bad idea.

Louis motions for him to get up, accompanied with a cut throat movement, his mind running a hundred miles an hour.

Maybe he should really do it.

No. It’s stupid.

But, it’s Florence who asked, and then Harry offered.

For the love of God, he’s editor in chief of Vogue.

This is Brooklyn. The lights are dim and he doesn’t recognize anyone around them.

He’s a thirty-year-old man.

He can climb on shoulders.

Louis swings his legs over Harry’s shoulders, letting a loud shriek as Harry lifts him up in the sky.

He’s high, higher than he’s ever been before and Harry’s hold on his legs is firm as Florence belts out the chorus.

He’s flying, bouncing up and down as much as he can and singing his heart out. It feels like a crazy trust exercise where he completely gives up control and lets Harry take over, trusting him with his body and his safety.

It’s crazy, that is, the feeling of letting go and giving away the power but at the same time feeling more in charge than ever and there’s a smile on his face as he dances on Harry’s shoulders and when Harry puts him down, the bass is thumping loud in his ears and his heart is a mess of irregular beats.

He dances like a maniac, following Harry’s lead and just giving in to the feeling of complete euphoria for the last two songs and when Florence yells ‘Good night’ and the crowd erupts in cheers, Louis’ heart has grown two times in size.

He feels free.


	5. Spring 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway there. Whoa. Sending you an inordinate amount of love, thank you for reading.
> 
> ([Helenah](http://helenahjay.tumblr.com/) you're aces)

Louis loves sweaters. It’s boiling in New York on the first day of New York Fashion Week, and he’s thinking about the Hamptons or Greece where he could just not wear anything and swim for hours, but he’s not giving in. It’s sweater time.

He got a fresh load of the winter collections just a few days ago, in time to don them front row.

It was a few years ago, just as he started his new role at Vogue, when he realized the usual rules of wearing the just-shown collections to the following fashion week didn’t really apply to him. In reality, the fashion royalty of editors, celebrities, buyers, and now the recent addition of internet media stars, all fall victim to the impossibly fast rhythm of fashion and are pushed to wear for the fall shows garments shown only five months ago on the runway.

Every year in March there’s snow on the ground in New York City and editors running around in sandals, getting pneumonia caused by fearlessness that’s shown in countless crop tops.

For men’s collections, the dates are scheduled quite later, pushed to January and June, respectively.

After some contemplation, Louis concluded that even though he doesn’t have to follow the rules of wearing collection for collection, as he liked to call the system, he would still mostly go with it, if only to be able to dress as outrageously loud as his heart desires.

Fashion week is not about the runways, but what’s happening in the shadows and before and after the shows, everyone knew that. He might as well outshine the bunch around him, too.

His main competition is Zayn, always going a step further. If there is one thing his best friend isn’t lacking, it’s imagination.

He looks over at the man in question, currently splayed over the back seat of their town car as they are fetched away to the first show of the season. He’s in a semi-horizontal state, flapping his invite to the show furiously  as a hand-held fan. Zayn’s wearing a cape; a thick green wool cape over an awfully warm-looking suit.

He’d opted for a full runway look, ordering both the suit and the cape from Burberry’s lookbook, the same lookbook that was intended for Louis’ purposes only.

The cape is dark green, almost emerald with fringe in thick wool, and it’s thrown over what Louis has come to known as the exceptional tailoring of the house of Burberry. The suit Zayn picked is sapphire blue, a simple blazer with thin lapels and a sewn-in pocket on the left side. Zayn is not wearing a shirt underneath, and his chest looks amazing in the deep V-neck, his stomach hidden by the high-waisted trousers that hang loose on his slim body.

_(Zayn's look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/8c84976e76881e59a8def453cf9ea909/tumblr_inline_nturrkzADW1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

The first time Louis got the chance to order whatever he liked from lookbooks the houses sent after the collections were shown, Zayn was there by his side, offering advice.

He always squeezed in an order or two of his own, explaining kindly to Louis that it was better for both of them if he didn’t protest.

‘Our mutual appreciation of each other, dear editor-in-chief, can go only so far. Sometimes I have to use the means you have at your disposal for my own benefit.’ He winked at that, leaving Louis slightly dumbfounded, but more than that, amused.

Sometimes Zayn talked incredible bullshit in slightly overcomplicated sentences.

‘You do understand that if you go to any of the shops on Fifth, they won’t charge you a thing, give you everything you pick out and serve you champagne at the same time.’

Louis knew this very well, although he’d never had to set a foot into the same stores. That’s what assistants are for, and Saks’ internet shopping heaven.

Vogue employees enjoyed a standard twenty percent discount everywhere, but the creative editor would never pay a dime. He’s one step below Louis, and Louis is the king.

‘That is entirely correct. But the shops don’t get everything. The buyers don’t filter everything through. And sometimes I really want the things that are too unmarketable and way too obscene.’

Louis couldn’t disagree with that years ago, so it stuck, and the orders Louis sent out were always enriched by a few of Zayn’s own requests.

It was a simple system when ordering, green post-it for yes, yellow for maybe and blue for no. He went over the lookbooks he wanted to see after the shows, a great pile of them as Louis didn’t exactly believe in the elitism the fashion system seemed to push so vigorously, and picked out what he wanted sent over in garments. He felt a ferocious sort of pride whenever he found a gem in one of the lesser-known collections, knowing that  wearing it always gave the designer the boost they needed.

Just last week, Stockholm’s incredible fashion week ended and Louis ordered the lookbooks for the junior editors he sent to cover it. He can never have enough Scandinavian minimalism in his closet.

After the PR offices send back the garments Louis orders comes the fittings in the closet, which features an occasional ‘You look like a slut’ or ‘A whale is what you resemble’ from Zayn, and it all leads to Louis being ready for the next season with a closet full of clothes ready to be worn once, or more often than that, never.

He laughs at Zayn now, who has asked the driver to turn up the air conditioning to the maximum so he won’t sweat in advance of charming the swarms of photographers before Givenchy.

It’s September 11, and Louis has already been to a memorial and a luncheon, not to mention arriving at the office at five thirty, skipping his usual morning run and trying instead to squeeze in more work, knowing his day will be filled with shows, and quite possibly sex.

Harry texted him this morning, just as he had every morning and afternoon and evening for the last couple of weeks, ever since he dashed off back across the pond right after the Florence + The Machine concert.

Louis doesn’t know what to think about the constant exchange of little snippets of their days, Harry sending him photos of almost anything that’s to be found on British ground. He returns the gesture with taking way too many photos of the office and what’s taking place there, sometimes squeezing in a nice panorama of the Central Park in the morning or the streets of New York late at night when he’s going back home and doesn’t call for the driver but walks the few blocks.

They don’t talk or Skype, but Harry’s more present in his life than any other person, knowing on a daily basis what Louis had for breakfast and what’s bothering him about the new issue.

Harry’s appropriately jealous when Louis sends him pictures of the exquisite dresses or exceptionally well-tailored jackets that come in to the office for shoot, as they don’t have the same access to women’s collections at GQ.

Louis’ mind often wanders away when Harry gets back to him with a ‘I wish this was me’ or a string of crying emojis that Louis knows are not just for show, and he can’t stop himself from trying to imagine what would make Harry completely happy. Louis can’t imagine Harry running a purely fashion magazine. Not after the article he wrote, which was more of a critical review on modern society than a fun read about two different cultures. Harry’s also in love with so many different things, his sole focus never just on the clothes like Louis’. After losing track of time, his Starbucks in his hand and gaze fixed on the stream of people passing by underneath him with his back turned to the rest of the office, his conclusion when he does gather his thoughts at last is always the same - he doesn’t know enough about Harry, and it would be foolish to assume.

Harry is flying in with Niall and Liam in tow today, just in time to catch Givenchy.

The fact Liam is coming makes Louis laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing is: a sports editor sitting front row at the most famous fashion week in the world. The spot people work their whole life to achieve. Yet there is Liam, unable to tell the difference between a Kelly and a Birkin, granted access to it with just a bit of Harry Styles magic involved. Louis finds it hard to mind, having come to love Liam and his kind eyes and funny remarks that never seem to ridicule the whole fashion world, which qualifies as an exceptional quality in the Louis Tomlinson book of rules.

It is the second day of New York Fashion Week, but it feels like the first not only for Louis and Zayn, but anyone who’s anyone skipping the introductory, lesser known shows scheduled for day one.

Givenchy is opening a flagship store in New York, and moving their runway show from Paris to New York for just this season. Louis fears it’s the best and the worst thing, with the show probably ruining hopes of anyone topping it for the rest of the next four weeks in which he is sitting through first the New York shows, followed by Milan and Paris. London’s Burberry is still to be discussed, Louis rooting for skipping it altogether and Zayn being an overexcited child wanting to go.

But just for now, Louis is excited. New York Fashion Week feels like a baby of his, with the amount of time and energy he always spends pushing new designers and being in constant contact with the organizers of what’s come to be known as the most important week for every fashionista in New York City.

This morning he woke up with fire in him he hadn’t felt for a while, and he recognizes it as something he always feels before something new is about to happen. When Sabine printed out his agenda at 7am this morning, it was already three pages long, without any call logs or additional notes.

The amount of work Fashion Week brings should scare him, especially when he remembers how many private visits to designers prior to their official shows he has to make. It’s a delicate role of juggling the editor’s job, which on a regular day is more than anyone would dare to ask for, then there’s the running around town and changing outfits for the shows, informal lunches and private deals being made, and on top of it all he’s hosting the biggest party of the season.

To deal with it all he’s got a sweater on, his mind completely blissed out by the fact it’s sweater time again, even though it’s most certainly not, the sidewalks bathed in warm sun and the temperature still holding up for tees instead of layers.

Today’s was an easy choice, a sweater with a loud Givenchy Paris print on it and the classic smooth leather jacket from the Fall collection. He went for jeans, not his first choice by any means but fitting in this scenario perfectly and giving it an edgy look, the ripped McQueen denim hanging loose on his hips. He rolled up the leggings so his ankles show, his feet clad in leather slip ons with a snarling Rottweiler print on the front that has become a synonymous with Riccardo Tisci's tenure at Givenchy.

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/25a9b16df72aa90df2d770100f77a12b/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [leather jacket](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a245a97a0867f5713d57ae9c0b58437b/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [jeans ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d9c141ee4453394bfa360c2f4bd253d8/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o3_500.jpg)/[slip ons](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4cd0e4796e13db73e56af035f06b17d6/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o4_500.jpg))_

He looks good, tough and powerful and edgy, just as one should for Givenchy, and knows he’s beaten Zayn in just the right way. His best friend looks beautiful and strong but also posh, and that’s something Louis will keep for later, maybe even Paris, where there are no excuses when it comes to looking your most luxurious self.

When they step out of the car, Zayn looks at him like he will faint any second, tapping at his forehead with a handkerchief and letting out small bursts of air. A few seconds later he is ready, schooling his face into the most uninterested expression and nodding at Louis, and they turn around to face the photographers in front of the venue before stepping into a dark room, runway still covered with plastic and people mingling around, waiting to be seated.

Louis gives an interview for The Times when one of the familiar faces approaches him and asks if he has a minute, and he repeats a few well-rehearsed phrases about how excited he is to be here, how hard he has been working for the party to be the best yet, how proud he is of the September issue.

For the first time today his mind registers properly that he should see Harry just about now and he has a hard time keeping his stomach from doing a celebratory round of jumping up and down. He lets his gaze travel around the room, secure under sunglasses.

If he’s absolutely honest with himself, he doesn’t have the slightest clue where to look. Harry’s editor position should place him front row but since he’s the editor from the UK, and menswear at that, that would make him either far left or far right.

If only he didn’t spend half of couture deliberately avoiding looking at Harry, he wouldn’t have a problem finding him now.

With hopes Harry won’t be so foolish as to approach him, he goes back to Zayn, noticing the show should be about to start.

When Zayn sees he’s fidgeting, he does his best to punch him in the ribs.

The cape blocks the view and no one notices. Zayn’s good at being the ultimate undercover fucker.

‘You are fidgeting.’ Another, slightly less damaging punch to his kidneys. ‘It’s okay, he’s on this side, you can’t see him from here. Liam is here too. Niall came as well, he texted me.’

Louis remembers he has a phone too, and seeing the lights are still not completely off, he unlocks the screen to find ten new messages, all from Harry.

_‘Just landed, can’t wait to see you. x’_

_‘Niall is coming, too. Apparently Tisci thinks he’s the new real deal or something.’_

_‘Are we gonna see each other before?’_

_‘What are you wearing?’_

_‘It’d be funny if we both wear the same thing.’_

_‘You would still look better than me.’_

_‘I sometimes forget you are you and you won’t see this until after you’ve seen me in person.’_

_‘I really am looking forward to this. Four weeks together.’_

_‘I didn’t mean it like that. Just, on the same continent.’_

_‘You look hot in leather.’_

Louis tries desperately not to laugh at each of the glimpses into Harry’s mind, and he pockets his phone before he starts rereading the texts.

Harry Styles is a first class idiot.

The lights go off and the show is stunning. Louis, already having seen the collection in the hotel Tisci was staying at with his crew a couple of days ago, now enjoys it on the models with proper make up and styling, and in the setting so simple yet impressive.

Zayn is furiously sketching, his cape getting in the way here and there when he flings his head up to catch the details of the meticulously executed dresses.

It feels like it’s over before it even starts, although Tisci sends out a fairly large number of looks, and the finale lasts for quite a while, the applause echoing in the filled-out space.

They don’t head backstage seeing as they will attend the party later in the evening in the newly-opened store. Instead, they rush out outside to avoid the crowds.

Harry, Liam and Niall seem to have followed the same logic, already waiting for them next to the entrance, quite cleverly stepping away from the rush that’s pouring all the way to the streets and making even the traffic clogged up.

Louis casts one glance to the two hundred or so people, the same faces he sees every six months when the fashion carrousel starts spinning again, and then turns his head towards Harry, catching up with Zayn who is already a few steps ahead.

By way of greeting, he takes out his phone from his pocket and opens his iMessage conversation with Harry, and shoves it into the man’s face with an evident smirk.

Harry’s dressed loud, in a blazer with a Native-American-like pattern, patches of red, orange and black making it look rich and out of place, but urban. He’s paired it with sharp pants that feature a striped paneling throughout leggings and a simple white tank top, crown and bee print in black. He looks good, his face fresh and the clothes hugging him perfectly so he stands out in the crowd.

He looks like a delicious candy. Louis’ mouth waters.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, but he bursts out laughing as soon as his eyes catch up with what Louis is showing him. Niall and Liam are still both craning their necks trying to read the whole thing and Louis accommodates them, holding the phone up all the while looking at Harry with a devilish glare.

‘Oh Harry,’ exclaims Liam while he’s done reading, trying to contain his laughter, ‘you’ll scare people off like that.’

‘I didn’t scare anyone. Louis, are you scared now?’ Harry’s eyes are reduced to slits with how happy he seems.

Louis wonders if it’s Givenchy, or maybe, just maybe it’s also him.

‘I’m not scared. Got used to it.’ He winks at Harry who is still beaming at him.

Zayn jumps in at that, not amused by the situation. ‘You do understand this will get extraordinarily nauseating by the end of Fashion Week?’ He’s addressing Liam and Niall.

‘Very much so.’ Niall’s a traitor. Liam is furiously nodding his head, smiling. They are both traitors.

Louis doesn’t provide them with an opportunity to go on. This is not open for discussion.

He’s not completely sure what this even is, but he notices Harry looks extra smug and everyone else like they’re watching a funny episode of a sitcom, and he is not happy where this, whatever it is, is going.

‘Let’s waste time before the party. What do you all say about that?’

‘I need dinner. Or lunch. I don’t know what it qualifies as, but food. Let’s go to our hotel and get food.’

Niall is a foodie, then. And Louis is not going to another hotel when he’s in his home city.

‘I suggest we head over to mine. Order in. We can pick up your outfits for the party on our way.’

Zayn shoots him a look saying, ‘You are asking someone over?’. He looks like he forgot how to blink.

Louis ignores him and looks over at the other three, waiting for a reaction.

They don’t see anything unusual in the invitation, it seems, so they all belt out yes-es and Harry spots their driver first.

As they settle in the car, Zayn once again making the driver put the air conditioning on ‘arctic temperature’, Harry whispers a cheeky ‘You look hot’ to Louis’ ear, his hand travelling down Louis’ leg, fingers scratching lightly.

Louis is definitely having sex today.

He looks over to where Zayn and Liam are talking next to them, crammed up in the space originally designed for three people, and Niall singing to himself in the passenger seat, phone in hand.

‘What’s with Niall and his phone?’ He asks Harry, noticing the man’s hands are always glued to his iPhone.

Harry laughs, and it seems like an insider secret he’s about to share. ‘He is still getting used to it, the fame. He is always on Twitter and Instagram, trying to provide a lot of background access to his fans. It’s a very smart PR move, but it’s not why he’s doing it.’

Louis nods. He can’t disagree, Niall’s nothing but genuine.

He’s also dressed impeccably well and Louis can’t help but wonder if it was more of Tisci’s team or Harry who styled him.

‘Who dressed him today?’ He murmurs to Harry who seems to be looking at him with a lot of thought, like he’s trying to decipher him.

‘Oh, he went to pick what he would wear this morning. I helped a little.’

So Harry it is.

Somehow Louis can see Harry picking the overalls Niall is wearing from the whole collection. They are black and simple, with white stitching and trousers wide. It makes Niall look crazy good, but it’s also a risk and that’s how Louis sees Harry’s style, if he had to put it in one sentence. The oversized navy striped silk shirt is covered by the overalls but gives the whole outfit a more polished effect and Louis can without a doubt say he’s impressed.

_(Niall's look:[overalls ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3ed04a2c21ed363dc0e4a6840772525b/tumblr_ntus6tkLmz1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/4681ff1b8daf82b515faaeeb3b6f8a3a/tumblr_ntus6tkLmz1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

He decides to say so to Niall, knowing it will make Harry beam, too.

‘You look exceptional today, Niall. Very Givenchy.’

Harry’s hand stops at that, just above Louis’ knee and his eyes get soft around the edges. He’s not saying anything, but he doesn’t have to.

‘It’s all Harry, mate.’ Niall turns around with a toothy grin, and his eyes travel to where Louis and Harry are pressed side to side, Louis leaning in and Harry’s hand on his thigh.

He doesn’t say anything, just nods, still cheerful.

They stop in front of the hotel the Brits are staying at and before Harry climbs out of the car, Louis lowers his voice so the rest can’t hear him when he tells Harry: ‘Take your toothbrush, too. And what you need for tomorrow,’ before looking at Harry with a devilish grin.

Harry trips only once before he enters the hotel.

They end up ordering sushi, and an assortment of sweets from a local bakery that Louis knows does great cupcakes, music playing in the background.

It’s the first time in a long time the wooden table in Louis’ dinning room has seen any action, and Louis’ heart is filled, pumping happily. It feels like family, all warm smiles and stupid jokes, talking about whatever it is that comes up.

Louis sneaks to his room to call Sabine so he can check up on the office and if everything due has been submitted to him on time. He also needs the book today, and the polaroids for December delivered with it.

She humours him, answering all the questions in just the right manner and he lets her go soon, satisfied when she says she will deliver everything to his flat around 11pm, when the book is ready.

He is about to go back to the men waiting for him downstairs when hands embrace him from the back, holding him tight.

‘It’s so weird not kissing you when I see you.’

There’s twenty alarms going off in Louis’ head, each louder than the next. He turns around slowly so he’s facing Harry who smells of coconut and expensive cologne, and his curls nudge Louis’ neck.

‘Well, we aren’t dating.’

They are not. Mission impossible.

Harry’s face darkens at that, like his mind is chasing a demon for a few seconds before he schools his look into something that looks like detachment, but also determination. He hums, but doesn’t comment, taking Louis’ face in his hands instead. His eyes are big, and dark, and he kisses Louis with passion, slamming their mouths together. He doesn’t waste any time and nudges Louis’ lips with his tongue, and when Louis opens his mouth he twirls his tongue expertly. It’s like Harry’s fucking his mouth, switching between sucking and chasing Louis’ tongue, and when he stops it’s only to graze Louis’ teeth with his tongue.

They are standing in the middle of Louis’ bedroom, both still dressed as they were for the show except the jackets. Louis feels like his legs are giving up on him so he searches for Harry’s hip, squeezing there to ground himself. His other hand goes to Harry’s hair, scratching at the scalp and then pulling lightly. Harry breathes an obscene sound into his mouth and brings him in closer, his hand now on the small of Louis’ back, the other pressing on his neck.

Louis can feel himself getting hard from the rush of it all, Harry’s kisses urgent. He doesn’t stop, except to catch a breath but then he attacks Louis’ from another angle and Louis loses it again, Harry’s perfect tongue making his head spin. Harry pushes him in even closer, his hand traveling low on Louis’ ass and squeezing, and he can feel Harry’s cock is completely hard when their hips align. Louis spreads his legs, burying his face in Harry’s neck and breathing him in. Harry sucks lightly on his earlobe, and he’s panting.

‘Your ass is the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Have you seen yourself in those jeans, baby? I am losing it.’

Louis can feel the hand leave his neck and then Harry’s catching his ass with both of his big hands, squeezing hard and pulling Louis’ body into his. His ass fits perfectly into Harry’s hands and it makes him dizzy, how they fit, and how easy it is for him to get completely hard just from the kisses Harry gives him.

He almost gets thrown on the bed, Harry looking at him from where he is standing at the end next to the adjoining sofa. Harry’s cock is straining in his trousers, visibly curled up by his right hip, and when Louis looks up, he’s met with a wicked grin, Harry’s eyes wild with want, pupils fully blown. Harry takes off his top easily and then slides down his trousers, getting his shoes off in the process too. He is going commando, and when his trousers pool around his ankles all Louis can see is Harry’s cock flushed and waiting for him.

Harry just stands there, waiting for Louis to get a grip on things but he’s staring, and he can feel his cock twitching from desire and the sight of the man before him. He looks delicious, and Louis wants to ride him and let Harry fuck him and do it on the side, he wants to ravish him and destroy him. He remembers the last time Harry fucked him, the bruises the window left on his shoulderblades for days after and how he couldn’t sit properly the first day after Harry left.

He needs Harry on top of him, to feel him right now, and he hastily takes off his clothes, throwing them on the floor, sounds of Harry’s laughter bringing him back to reality.

‘Don’t you fucking laugh at me, and come here.’

Louis needs him like he needs high fashion or to be the boss, and it feels like it’s just another one of these things he needs and can’t explain but they are a part of him nevertheless.

Harry shifts closer easily, crawling over to Louis, and his thigh muscles strain with every move. He was meant to be naked all the time. A perfect body, soft on the angles with a perfectly-sculpted torso and stomach, and legs that go on for days. Louis thinks he could come from watching Harry touch himself and he puts it on his mental to-do list. For later.

‘You called?’ Harry whispers as he places soft kisses on Louis’ stomach, just above the happy trail, and then sucks one of Louis’ nipples in his mouth. He’s obscene, his hair a wild mess just from the kissing. He looks up to Louis, sucking hard on the nipple, his hands straining from the effort to keep himself above Louis.

Louis yanks at his hair, making him move, patience long forgotten. Harry moans at that, sending vibrations to Louis’ skin and their mouths clash together, falling back on the mattress. There’s a symphony of ‘fucks’ comings from Harry against Louis’ mouth, and Harry looks at Louis like he’s treasure, or maybe a prize.

‘How do you want me?’ Harry breathes against Louis’ collarbone as he sinks down again, tracing at Louis skin before he bites in just before the shoulder, where it hurts. He’s sloppy, and uncoordinated, his breath coming in an irregular pattern, but it makes it all better for Louis, knowing he’s got Harry ruined already.

Harry’s arms keep him locked in on the mattress while his mouth slurps and licks and bites at Louis’ skin. All of Harry is big, the frame of his shoulders, the bulge of his arms, the length of his cock nudging Louis’, sending electric sparks through his body.

Louis rubbed his nose against the crook of Harry’s neck when Harry shifts to kiss him again, and they’re both breathless, getting lost in the clash of their mouths and the way it feels so good, rushed and slow at the same time.

‘I think I’m gonna ride you today.’

He sinks his teeth into Harry’s biceps, the swell of the muscle responding perfectly to Louis’ touch and blood rushing on the surface almost immediately.

‘Mmmmmph.’ Harry rolls onto his back, and his eyes travel towards Louis, his gaze expectant. Louis can read admiration written all over his face, the muscles relaxed and a hint of naughtiness there, too.

‘Why don’t you open yourself up for me, baby?’

Louis lifts his head and turns to his right, to where Harry’s splayed on his back, his chest flushed and muscles in his stomach tense. He’s stroking himself lightly, his cock flushed.

Delicious.

In this moment there’s not one thing Harry can ask that Louis would say no to.

He scrambles up for lube and a condom, opening up the nightstand drawer he refilled yesterday, now stocked up with four different flavoured lubes and an assortment of condoms. He picks out the cinnamon bottle, wondering how it will feel on his fingers.

He tosses it towards Harry, and the condom too, and sits on his knees to figure out how he’s going to do this. Harry’s watching him with wide eyes, biting his lip.

Louis turns his upper body so he’s kneeling, and he throws one of his legs over Harry. His ass is in Harry’s face and he’s looking at Harry’s cock.

He’s nothing if not diligent. And Harry asked.

‘You are going to kill me, Tomlinson.’ Harry’s voice is low and then there’s a light slap on Louis’ ass. He shivers, his body electrified.

‘Do it again.’ He lowers his head and takes Harry’s cock in his mouth, tongue swirling around the top. Fucking delicious.

Harry bucks up his hips uncontrollably, and Louis laughs around the length, Harry’s cock thick and heavy on his tongue. He slaps him again, this time harder. Louis sinks his head lower at that, moaning, his head a fuzzy state of euphoria. This is better than any drug he’s ever done.

He can’t talk, and he doesn’t want to take Harry out of his mouth so he rolls his tongue over the underside of Harry’s cock, the thick vein pulsating on his touch. Harry seems to get the gist of it soon, and he slaps him again, switching hands. This time it’s lighter, but it still burns. Louis knows he will feel it when he rides Harry, and later when they’re out, and the best of it all, tomorrow sitting front row.

Fucking dirty.

He raises his head and pulls himself up, so he’s on his hands and knees above Harry, Harry’s cock slapping on his stomach, covered in spit and precome.

He reaches for the lube blindly, and Harry shoves it in his hand. Slicking up his fingers, he scoots towards Harry’s legs so he can lean on his chest, pushing his middle finger in. The smell of cinnamon is strong in the room.

Harry hisses, and he’s throwing curses under his breath, and Louis can feel the warm air coming from his mouth on his rim.

‘You look perfect, Louis. I wish you could see yourself.’ Harry’s long, slim fingers brush against the skin on his hip. ‘Don’t stop.’

He pushes in another finger, easing inside of him. He rotates his wrist to get a better angle and after pumping in and out to get used to the feeling, he starts scissoring himself, not being able to wait any longer to get Harry inside him. He gives himself three fingers, pushing slowly and curling them up to find the spot. It’s like fireworks, and his head falls down on Harry’s hip, next to Harry’s cock so he  licks as much as he can from the position he’s in. He feels full already, his mouth occupied with Harry’s length and his ass streched from his fingers.

Harry’s breathing rapidly. ‘I think you opened yourself enough. Let’s get you all wet now.’

He takes hold of Louis’ wrist and draws his fingers out, leaving small kisses all over Louis’ ass. He gets his tongue out and licks a long stripe from Louis’ balls to the rim, and Louis can’t hold it in anymore, so he moans loudly,

‘Fuck, that feels nice.’ He pushes his ass into Harry’s face just for a second, and Harry’s licking him out, spit dribbling down his chin. The noises coming from his mouth are dirty and loud, and Louis has never felt more needy in his life.

Louis finds the lube again and slicks Harry up after finding a condom and getting it on, and then he’s turning his body around so he is looking at Harry’s eyes. He groans when he sees Harry, his eyes shut, spit and lube smeared over his face, his chest heaving. When he kisses him, Harry tastes like cinnamon, and it’s probably the hottest thing he’s ever done, the way he can taste himself on Harry’s tongue. He licks over Harry’s teeth and lips, his hand pressed firmly on Harry’s shoulder blade and with the other he lines himself up and sinks down slowly.

Harry’s cock is so big, and in this position it stretches him even more. Louis forgets how to breathe, and he can see sparks before his eyes, the burn almost unbearable. Harry flicks his nipple, and then the other one, and then again, because that’s what Harry does, reads Louis like an open book and makes him feel like he’s floating all the time, easing out the burn.

He bottoms out, and just stays there, looking at Harry with hooded eyes. He’s so beautiful and Louis doesn’t ever want this to end.

‘You fill me up so good.’  He moves his hips to the right and circles his hips clockwise, doing a motion of eights over Harry’s hips. He can feel Harry’s cock shift inside him as he moves, and when it hits his spot, he’s thrashing, his head falling back. The moans that he lets out are loud, but he can’t keep them in any longer.

‘Oh my God,’ Harry drags out slow, his mouth open and lips bitten so there’s blood in the corners. Louis grinds down at that, sending another spark through his body and shuddering out another moan, making Harry groan and buck up his hips. ‘Fuck, you’re so tight.’ Harry’s hand trails Louis’ torso, squeezing at the waist. It makes Louis lose it, and another loud moan escapes his lips. ‘Fucking hot.’ Harry’s hand travels down and he takes Louis in his hand, pumping slowly.

‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’ Louis starts bouncing up and down, desperate for friction. He slides down just right, Harry’s cock hitting his prostate with every move, and he picks up the pace, his ass slamming against Harry’s skin. ‘Fuck, Harry. You’re gonna make me come so hard.’

Harry’s grinning at him. ‘You like it rough, don’t you?’ He flicks his wrist, sending Louis almost over the edge, but then stops, keeping his hand loose around the base. ‘You like it fast, and hard.’ He starts pumping him again, his grip almost too much, but Louis is slick from his spit and lube and precome, and the friction is just right, so he just about screams, and grinds down hard again.

He can tell Harry’s close as his eyes lose focus, and his thighs tremble whenever Louis slams into them. Louis lets his body jump up and down, swaying whenever he lifts himself up, his cock bouncing in Harry’s tight grip. ‘I knew you would ride me - ahhh so good.’ Louis slams their mouths together, shutting him up. It’s sloppy and wild, their chins wet with spit. Harry is dragging his hand over Louis’ cock and he bucks his hips up to thrust into Louis, losing control.

‘Fucking shameless.’ His breath is hot on Louis’ neck. ‘Gonna come, Louis. So good, ahhh fucking perfect.’ Louis grinds down at that, hard, and he knows Harry’s hips will bruise tomorrow. The image of Louis sitting proudly on his cock sends him over the edge and he’s coming inside Louis.

Harry’s on fire, and he is belting out ‘Don’t stop, don’t you dare fucking stop,’ to Louis, making Louis bounce up and down repeatedly, heat filling him in and Harry writhing beneath him, his stomach muscles contracting. Harry’s hands are gripping his hips hard, and he looks perfect, his face blissed out and sweaty. Louis drags his ass over Harry’s hips in circular motions, the feeling of Harry’s cock filling him up so good. His hand finds Louis’ cock at that and it takes only one, two sharp tugs before Louis is pushed over the edge, body going lax and white come covering Harry’s stomach. Harry jerks him through his orgasm, and when Louis opens his eyes he’s licking come off his fingers slowly, a satisfied grin on his face.

Louis collapses on top of him after he pulls Harry’s cock out and they kiss sloppily, the taste of cinnamon now salty from Louis’ come.

‘We’ve outdone ourselves this time.’ Louis murmurs to Harry’s skin, where the swallows are inked beneath his collarbones.

‘Fucking magic, you are,’ Harry replies, snuggling Louis closer to his chest with his hand, the other webbed into his hair. ‘You smell so good.’

‘Mmmmm, not so bad yourself.’

Harry’s chest feels so good beneath him, and he thinks about not moving for the rest of the day. Just kissing Harry is enough to fill his agenda, right?

There’s small, chaste kisses pressed to his hair and then Harry mutters: ‘We should head downstairs. The guys have been waiting for a while.’

When they extract themselves from the bed, cleaning up a little in Louis’ ensuite and counting their limbs and cracking joints to regain some self control, they go downstairs. They are met with the three men sitting in the lounge chairs on the balcony, smoke rising around them as they plan where to head for the after-afterparty tonight. Niall’s especially loud, trying to persuade the other two to go somewhere he DJs and loves, Liam nodding his head good-heartedly and Zayn taking photos of the city on his phone.

‘Get your own view to take photos of, Malik,’ is Louis’ way of letting them all know Harry and him are back, and nobody even casts them a glance.

‘Nice of you to finally join us. Prime host qualities you have, Tomlinson.’

And Zayn will definitely be having his closet privileges revoked. Annoying fucker.

‘Can’t see any of you are missing anything. There’s alcohol in your hands and cigarettes in your mouths. The whole New York in front of you, and you are chatting idly. What a tough life, yeah? I completely agree.’

Niall’s laugh can be heard to Queens.

‘We should probably get going soon, still need to get ready.’ Liam stands up, stubbing his cigarette and tilting his champagne flute to down the rest of Moet. ‘And I would advise you two to change in separate rooms.’

Harry, content with just smiling silently next to him, smacks a loud, obnoxious kiss on Liam’s face and throws an arm over his shoulders.

‘Let’s get you sorted, Payne. You are going to be smoking hot tonight with what I have prepared for you.’

They leave at that, Harry already accustomed to walking around Louis’ flat like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s wonderful how easy he fits in, filling in the gaps in Louis’ soul which he didn’t even know were blank. If Louis would stand still for just a minute, maybe he would be able to tell that it’s not only wonderful, but also the most scared he’s ever been in his life.

Louis, however, doesn’t know how to stop.

Instead, he throws a small smile to where Harry’s disappearing around the corner to head upstairs to the guest bedroom, and lights one up.

Zayn asks Louis to do something special for this Fashion Week the way they did for couture, maybe a series of Instagram looks and Vogue.com profiles, explaining they would boost the sales for October and November, and also draw more attention to the internet platform.

‘That’s really smart, Louis. I do that with my fans all the time, keep them engaged, gets them really invested.’ Niall’s switched cigarettes for a roll of something stronger. He’s gonna smell awfully later.

‘Yeah, maybe the five of us. You four, I may jump in too. We could do a group shot today. In the spirit of the British-themed issue and all that.’

He’s been thinking about it for days now, already discussing it with Vogue’s online editor who is accompanying him to the shows. It’s a done deal, and Zayn knows it, otherwise he wouldn’t mention it. Executive decisions are Louis’. He loves Zayn for giving him the final push, as he does with many other things.

Two cigarettes in, and they are discussing Niall meeting Obama a few days ago, Louis commenting on Michelle Obama’s great style when Liam joins them, dressed in Ann Demeulemeester.

He’s wearing leather pants that look painted on, and Louis never noticed how well-built Liam is before now, his muscles visible under the skin-hugging leather. He’s wearing a full runway look, and he has a blazer with inverted lapels over a buttonless cashmere shirt. Everything he’s wearing is black, and it looks strong and edgy, and Louis is just about to protest that he’s not wearing anything Givenchy to a Givenchy party, when he notices Liam has their floral black high top sneakers on his feet.

_(Liam's look:[full ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/af027b13ca68462a22e6e0381d69f33a/tumblr_ntusczFSct1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/[sneakers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9470136f346ad45965e3694691569f6f/tumblr_ntusczFSct1tawb72o2_500.jpg))_

Damn, Harry Styles really knows his fashion.

‘Liam, you look smoking hot.’ Louis gives him another once over and then paints a huge smile to his face.

He could really get used to this, beautiful men in beautiful clothes. Food and drinks and fashion shows spilling into parties. Sex in between.

Niall and Zayn all nod their heads, murmuring their agreement and quite openly staring at Liam. Louis wonders who in their group won’t fuck at least one of the others by the end of fashion week.

It’s two out of five for now, Niall and Liam already on groping ground when they’re drunk, and Zayn’s eyes a picture of lust looking at Liam.

‘You better head up, Niall. He wants to dress you, then he’ll get ready. And he told you two to move your asses. We’ve got half an hour.’

They all get going when realizing what time it is, leaving Liam to his own devices. And alcohol.

Louis already knows what he’s wearing so he goes to help Zayn first, seeing as he didn’t bring anything with him to wear and is cheekily heading for Louis’ closet without even asking first.

‘I’ve actually got something for you, because I knew you would steal. Comme Des Garcons cropped trousers and their white tee. Pick a jacket over it, and shoes.’

Louis goes over to the clothing rack that he pushed to the corner of his room, currently storing only four hangers. Two are for Zayn, and a Givenchy suit and shirt for him.

He hands Zayn the pieces, and takes the suit in his hands, pulling it out of the garment bag and laying it on the bed gently before stripping to his boxers.

‘I don’t know if I should shower.’ He murmurs at Zayn, but decides promptly against it, remembering they are short on time.

Zayn comes out of the closet soon, dressed in the tweed grey cropped trousers with ombre blue finish and a simple white tee with the distinct black Des Garcons pocket. He took Louis’ favourite lace up black Givenchy boots with white beading.

_(Zayn's look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/3b4282861b71f4258e4873063de51cb4/tumblr_ntusfg5f6a1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/340246176a3e53970255cd754b05fbfb/tumblr_ntusfg5f6a1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/[boots](https://36.media.tumblr.com/d547e7ef6f85638bee3a4fd5e30ca6fb/tumblr_ntusfg5f6a1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

Louis hasn’t seen him dressed this simple in a while, but it suits him. Zayn’s physique makes the whole outfit look better than it would on anyone else.

‘You’re bringing those back.’ He nods towards the shoes and goes over to find a blue silk bandana to tie around Zayn’s neck. He hands him a bunch of Margiela chunky silver and leather bracelets he received the other day and points to where his watch drawer is.

‘Take the Burberry, black leather strap.’

Zayn just nods, and disappears off in the closet, iPhone clutched in his hands. The shutter starts going off mere seconds after, and Louis just laughs under his breath, buttoning his shirt and pulling on the blazer over his shoulders.

The pants are smooth around his legs, hugging him nicely but still not too tight, the length just right. He hasn’t worn a white shirt in a while, but this time it fits, giving space for the blazer to shine, a beautiful striped leather cognac finish. He ends up picking chain trim monk shoes with double straps and a white sole, just to take the edge off the stiffness of the suit.

_(Louis' look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/745de3769eb26901a919699629ceeed7/tumblr_ntusv4PSi01tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

After Zayn takes what seems like a thousand photos, they do their hair together. The three Brits are already waiting for them in the foyer by the time they are ready to go, and Louis makes them all pose for a group shot for Instagram before they leave, Sabine just stopping by to drop the book and being pressed into use as an impromptu photographer.

Harry’s standing on his left when they line up, tall and beautiful, in a black and white McQueen shirt with hands printed all over. He’s got it buttoned up all the way and burgundy trousers, looking like he walked out of an old Hollywood movie.

_(Harry's look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e7691007f5af542564d2d3402ba9d177/tumblr_ntusxqDl9Z1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/3b39c148ecbbd428b5c24121f7d7d8c4/tumblr_ntusxqDl9Z1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

Hands in pockets and chins raised high, shoulders straight. Sabine takes more than a few shots before Niall finally stops talking and as soon as they see Louis give them a thumbs up, they all descend into hysterical laughter.

The room smells like weed, and Chanel Eau De Blue, and Sabine is eyeing them up suspiciously.

Louis tells her she can go, but should definitely stop at the party with them, and she accepts for once, offering to take a few of them in her car so it’s not too cramped.

They split, Zayn and Liam heading with Sabine and Harry and Niall sticking with Louis, and Niall makes them listen to All Of The Lights on their way over, talking the driver into plugging his iPhone to the car’s stereo and blasting the song full volume.

Niall’s jovial, eyes crinkled, matching the Christopher Kane patterned shirt and pants. He’s already made a mess out of himself, moving in his seat, hands in the air, and voice matching Rihanna’s. He’s got a black lambskin buttoned biker jacket from Saint Laurent over it, and Givenchy’s classic black ankle boots on his feet.

_(Niall's look:[full look](http://media.style.com/image/fashion-shows/fall-2015-menswear/london/christopher-kane/collection/1366/2048/Christopher_Kane_015_1366.jpg) / [jacket](http://cdn-images.farfetch.com/11/05/67/32/11056732_5098094_1000.jpg))_

He doesn’t look like a DJ at all, but it fits him nonetheless, the high waist of the trousers bringing out how slim he is, and black leather giving it the cool effect.

Harry’s laughing in his ear on the other side. If this is how the next four weeks are going to be, Louis is delighted.

Blinding lights from the cameras flash them on Madison Avenue, and there’s an incredible amount of people running around. Louis can tell most of them don’t have an invitation and are there to try their luck or get a selfie with an A-list celebrity.

Louis debates whether he should run or walk extremely fast in, not in the mood for giving interviews. Before he can execute either plan, Niall steps out of the car and the gathered crowd erupts into hysterics. He just laughs good-heartedly, and Louis wonders how he even sees where to place his feet with his head raised up high, looking straight into the lights.

‘He’s used to this, let’s just pass. Look, Zayn and Liam are already heading in.’ Harry grabs his elbow to guide him and there’s a wave of panic rising from Louis’ toes to his chest.

He looks over to where Zayn is about to start walking and catches his eyes, making a cutthroat movement with his hand, head nodding towards Harry. It would be incredibly foolish to walk in to the party with Harry. He’s never been Page Six material, and he is not going to start now.

Zayn realizes in a second what’s happening and quite elegantly drags Liam over, pairing him up with Harry.

‘Off you go, eh?’ He addresses Harry, and Louis’ face is frozen when Harry looks over, question marks written all over his expression.

‘Fucking foolish. Fucking fuck, I thought he knew boundaries. I could slap him, Zayn. I could also fuck him, but mostly I want to not have to deal with this right now.’

Zayn’s hand is soothing on his back, rubbing endless circles. ‘He got carried away. Nobody noticed, it’s all good. Let’s just go in, diffuse the tension, have too much chardonnay.’

It’s like somebody poured ice cold water over his head, and there’s a sharp jolt of clarity thrumming through his body. This was why Louis didn’t date.

He follows Zayn in, and pretends to have a good time, joining the Brits after chatting with Tisci for what seems like hours. The designer always ends up flirting with him, hand somehow ending up on Louis’ elbow as he throws his head back and laughs at Louis’ jokes.

Louis loves his Italian accent, and he’s funny and smart, so he lets it be, words followed with words and insinuations slipped into conversation.

They part only when there’s too many people waiting in line to talk to both of them, their patience running out.

Louis leaves Tisci with a kiss and a promise to chat more later, and turns to people with expectant eyes and fake smiles plastered on their faces. He makes quick work of it, saying all the right things and keeping them in the loop on what he can share without revealing much or anything at all, aching to get back to the four people in the room he actually wants to talk to.

He’s met with smiles and a concerned look from Harry, Zayn thrusting a wine glass to his hands. They’re all already tipsy, but still behaving themselves.

‘You’re mad. I am sorry.’ Harry whispers in his ear when the attentions of the other three shifts to someone else, and they are standing close to each other, Beyonce and Jay Z whispering sweet nothings to each other on their left.

‘Yeah.’

Not much to add to that, really.

‘And you were flirting just now.’ Harry continues, taking a sip of something ruby red, leaving stains on his lips when he swallows.

‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t like it.’ Another sip, and his eyes burn into Louis’, waiting for a reaction.

‘Yeah.’

Louis downs another glass, snatching it up from one of the waiters circling around and looks into Harry’s eyes. He’s a picture of calm, and Louis would say he’s indifferent if he didn’t know better. Guess he really was looking for acknowledgment only.

Louis shuffles closer to him, still not touching, but he can feel Harry whenever he moves even an inch, and the man relaxes visibly next to him.

Louis reminds himself once again why he’s where he is and why there is no one better for his job than him. Making people believe what he wants them to believe is his expertise. With Harry, though, it seems to be working only a small fraction of times. He is grateful for a calm Harry next to him now, and a crisis averted.

He’s got a lot on his plate, and a moody Harry is not one he’s ready to tackle.

\-----

As soon as Louis sets foot into his bedroom, Harry yanks him by the wrist and spins him around, using his weight to slam Louis against the door.

Louis’ cheek is pressed against the wooden door and his breathing quickens, Harry keeping both his wrists captured between their bodies, holding him with only one hand firmly.

Louis feels blood rushing to his head from the fact Harry can control him so easily, twisting him and turning like he weighs nothing. He almost chokes on his own breath, panting for air in surprise.

This is not how he thought this night would go, him and Harry leaving the party after what seemed like countless hours and even more drinks, mood light. He thought they were going to go to bed and he would get cuddles and kisses, but this, this is much better.

Harry’s face is so close to him but he isn’t doing anything, still holding him tight and just breathing soundly next to him. The shock of it builds arousal inside Louis, and he’s completely still beneath Harry, back arching slightly when Harry puffs warm air in his ear and then down his neck.

‘You make me wanna take your clothes of all the time. Fuck, Louis.’

Harry’s hands take Louis’ in his and bring them above his head, palms facing the door, entwined. He is all over Louis after that, Louis keeping still with pants escaping his lips as Harry’s strong hands roamed over his body, lifting his blazer and unbuttoning his shirt in one swift move.

Louis’ neck is on fire from the kisses he is leaving, and his back is burning from Harry’s stomach pressing firmly. He squirms, trying to get his ass into Harry’s crotch, to feel how much he’s making Harry lose it, the only part of him keeping still his hands, completely locked above his head on the door. Harry squeezes his hip and slams into him at that, pushing him into the door completely, and he can feel Harry’s cock on his ass, already half hard. Heat s radiating from his crotch and Louis lets out an agonizing moan when Harry starts whispering in his ear. ‘You,’ he bites at Louis earlobe, letting spit flow down his chin, ‘drive,’ his hand travelled down Louis’ cock, palming him firmly, and Louis lets his head fall completely on Harry’s shoulder, closing his eyes and panting, ‘me,’ Harry gropes him firmly around the length, like he’s wondering if he can fit Louis’ cock in his hand, ‘insane’. His lips travel down Louis’ skin, setting just above the shoulder and biting, leaving a trail.

‘Harry,’ it comes out desperate, almost needy. Another small whine leaves his lips. Harry turns him around, and Louis’ hands fall down by his sides. His eyes are heavy with lust and his voice comes out hoarse, and he can see Harry’s wearing that wild look he has when Louis drives him mad from want. He can feel his cock straining the tight pants, and he wants to take everything off Harry, make him come on his face. He knows Harry has different plans, with the way he’s taking off his shirt and blazer in quick moves, and when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s trousers, clinging onto his boxer briefs, and glancing up to Harry who’s shadowing over him, knees halfway to the floor.

Harry catches him by the jaw, his grip firm and his eyes glaring. ‘Oh no. This time, my way.’ His breath is hot when he kisses Louis, urgently, before forcing him down on the bed. He looms over Louis, kissing the inside of his biceps after positioning his arms above his head and holding them firm. He’s got full access, every inch of Louis on his disposal, and he kisses down Louis’ arms in a frenzy, leaving spit and marks. His focus shifts on Louis’ tattoos, and he starts counting, a bite for every ink on Louis’ body. ‘One,’ he murmurs, sending shivers down Louis’ spine as his tongue laps over the birds on Louis’ wrist. He bites down, playful and trails kisses upwards, towards the compass, the globe and camera before sinking his teeth down into the swell of Louis’ biceps, four bites all over the heart inked below his shoulder. Louis is a whimpering mess, following each bite with a moan louder than the next one, and there’s sweat on his forehead, make up running down his cheeks. He keeps his hands locked over his head and digs his heels into the mattress, willing to do whatever is necessary to keep still. Harry’s not stopping and his cock twitches whenever he changes course, now mouthing over triangle on Louis’ ankle. He bites seven times, in a circle around the tattoo, switching between barely there and harsh before losing patience and yanking Louis’ trousers off, hastily throwing them off the bed.

‘I can see someone’s excited,’ he breathes over the bulge in Louis’ boxer briefs, taking the tip in his mouth.

Louis might kill him.

‘Fuck, Harry, ahhh-  just fucking do something.’

Harry laughs at that, and there’s an sharp edge to it. ‘I’m not done yet.’ He sucks the fabric and Louis’ cock in his mouth, and Louis can’t help himself, bucking his hips up and letting out a strangled moan.

‘There’s still tattoos I haven’t taken care of.’ He attacks the dagger on Louis’ other arm next, and he’s up to twenty bites now, leaving the tattoo swollen and purple. It hurts when Harry licks over it after, and Louis is so close to coming he squirms, trying to get any kind of friction. ‘Keep still, or I’ll double the count just for fun.’

Louis will definitely kill him. He just needs to come first.

His arms and legs are bitten, and there’s spit everywhere. Harry leaves the worst for last, the It Is What It Is tattoo that graces Louis’ collarbones his last target. He murmurs around the words, spitting and then licking over the letters, and Louis’ can’t wait any longer so he pushes his hips upwards to where Harry’s holding himself above Louis on all fours, just for a bit of friction.

‘Mmmmm, needy much?’ He pushes him down, holding his hip. ‘Twenty eight,’  Harry bites down furiously at that, and at the same time he takes Louis in his hand and starts spreading the precome from the tip all the way down to the base. He starts pumping excruciatingly slow, almost matching it with the bites. He’s strong, his big hands holding Louis down and Louis’ pulse is rapid, his bloodstream filled with want to get Harry inside him, to get fucked so hard he sees stars.

‘You taste so good.’ Harry yanks his boxer briefs down his legs with no grace, and there’s a sharp bolt of pleasure from when Louis’ cock springs free on his stomach. There’s a bottle of lube next to Louis’ head and Harry uses it to coat his fingers, pushing one in and taking Louis’ nipple in his mouth. Louis hisses and clenches around Harry’s knuckle, grateful for a bit of friction as Harry’s stomach rubs over his cock.

Harry’s skin feels like he’s burning up, and Louis can’t even see green in his eyes. Harry’s a vision above him, sucking hard on his nipple and his lips are obscenely swollen, the shade of cherry. He gives him another finger, and Louis is on edge already

‘I’m gonna come if you don’t do something soon.’ Louis is barely able to form words, and his voice seems to have dropped an octave lower, words coming out strained.

Harry hits his prostate. And then again, and again. His brain almost shorts out. He needs to fucking come, right now, or he’ll crawl out of his skin. It itches how much he wants Harry, and he doesn’t know if he’s able to move his muscles, the need to grind on Harry’s fingers and take his cock in his hands so bad he wants to scream.

Harry just looms over him, and then he sucks on the nipples again, one after the other as he adds the third and fourth finger together. He doesn’t hit Louis spot, only pumps in and out, and Louis’ eyes roll to the back of his head. It feels like he’s been torn apart for hours.

‘Jesus Christ, Louis. You are --- look at you. So fucking ruined.’ Louis just moans, as loud as he can, making Harry shake his head and then kiss him. He seems to be in a frenzy, not knowing what part of Louis to touch or what to do, just licking at Louis’ tongue and sucking on his lips chanting ‘Lou, Lou, Lou’ over again.

‘Cock. Agh Harry.’ Louis squirms, and his arms ache from being locked and strained for so long. ‘Your cock Harry.’

Harry parts his lips and he’s a picture perfect, his hair everywhere and curling from the sweat, his eyes hooded and heavy but crystal clear black, and there’s sweat sliding down his brows over his flushed cheeks.

‘Hands and knees.’ His voice is loud, and erratic. When Louis doesn’t move, his muscles given up a long time ago, Harry holds him by the waist and picks him up, kissing him again.

‘Come on, wake up, open your eyes baby.’ It takes a few seconds before Louis can hear him, his cock throbbing and almost painful and he swears he can feel the bruises forming under his skin from the countless bites Harry has left littered across his skin. He blinks slowly, and Harry’s smiling, triumphant. He turns him around and places him gently on the mattress, Louis’ knees landing with a thump.

‘Gonna fuck you now. Can you take it?’ Harry asks, still holding Louis by the waist with one arm, the other brushing the hair from Louis’ eyes, his lips sweet beneath Louis’ ear.

Louis just nods, and he’s not sure that’s the truth, but he places his palms on the sheets, Harry letting him go. His ass is in the air as soon as he does, and Harry’s letting out a string of loud curses.

‘Jesus Christ.’ He pushes in all the way on the first thrust and just stays there, and Louis breaks down, falling on his shoulders. The feeling of Harry’s cock is overwhelming and there is a pool of precome on the sheets beneath him. Harry’s so big and the stretch burns but it feels so right, filling Louis up.

‘So tight. Oh my, fuck --- Louis. I can’t believe it’s you.’ Harry’s not making sense as he bottoms out again, his hips brushing Louis’ ass as he fucks him with slow thrusts.

Louis’ shouts are muffled by the sheets, and he doesn’t last for more than a few thrusts, Harry saying his name over and over again, each time with more force than the last, and then Louis is coming, his whole body clenching and his rim tensing around Harry’s cock.

He blacks out, Harry thrusting into him as he rides his orgasm, and he feels warm spurts of come shooting all the way to his chest and neck. Harry’s screaming next to him, and then he stops fucking Louis, and the only thing Louis can hear is rapid breathing.

He’s not sure where he is, only that Harry picks him up again and lays him on his side, curling up behind him, his hands strong but gentle as he holds him.

He’s never come so hard in his life, the build up Harry gave him almost more than he could take. He’s not sure if he wants to cry, but he doesn’t cry in front of people so he just stares ahead, shaking only a little. Harry’s singing into his ear, and Louis could swear it’s Florence but he can’t concentrate enough to register which song it is.

Instead he closes his eyes and snuggles closer, chasing the warmth of Harry’s body, and the other man is lax behind him but his hold is protective, hands shielding Louis from the world.

He dreams several ‘what if’ scenarios, all somehow including Harry.

\--------

Louis is incapable of running the next morning, but he still gets up and puts on his running shoes, Harry mumbling something about jet lag when Louis asks him if he wants to join.

He lasts a mile and a half, his personal weakest, and ends up trying to walk for the next few miles, inhaling long to get oxygen in his lungs. He stops by one of the little shops he always goes to after running, picking out a banana and cigarettes along with a huge water. He eats slowly as he gets back, his legs almost giving up on him, his muscles rigid. When he gets back to the flat, he heads for the balcony and chain smokes for ages. He can barely sit.

Harry doesn’t wake up even when he is putting his clothes on and he decides to just leave him to rest, heading for the office a bit before seven. He leaves a post it saying ‘You fucked me good yesterday. Gonna feel this for days. #HarrysCockIsWinning’ on Harry’s forehead and a spare key on the nightstand.

His agenda is even worse today, the party in two days, and he’s faced with waking Sabine up, calling her from the car and telling her to get everyone at the office by eight.

He is in a sweater again, this time Balenciaga with printed silver waves over a dark grey background, and he’s got a reddish suede Bally jacket over it.

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/070850c52034b2a1f5084159882175b0/tumblr_ntutfjXnzW1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [jacket](https://40.media.tumblr.com/5214a8cbecfc0be0d96c10debb7b9566/tumblr_ntutfjXnzW1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

The first show is not until 6pm, so he takes a simple black tee with him in a garment bag, and over it he throws a Dries Van Noten floor-length coat in navy with rows of embellished prints in silver, gold and burgundy. He asked them to take off the fur from the collar when tailoring the coat, and he can’t wait to wear it for shows later, the coat heavy on him, but falling perfectly, making him look like a model.

_(Louis' look for the show later:[coat](https://40.media.tumblr.com/dabb6dc2f58914b1b338de1a4c0695b6/tumblr_ntutgpqkhv1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

He’s on a coffee-fuelled spree until Zayn shows up and makes him eat something, ordering the whole menu from their favourite breakfast place two streets down. Zayn is basically free during Fashion Week, only coming to the office to act as Louis’ moral support. Louis finds it great to sometimes scream at him, as Zayn only looks at him, face a picture of indifference, waiting for Louis’ rant to be over. Then he tells him to shut the fuck up and get back to work, and Louis wants to buy him a puppy. Instead, he sends him to the closet.

He gets Sabine to call the caterers and bring the food over to the office. The party is sponsored by Moet, and they won’t serve anything else, so at least that’s sorted. He ticks the tasks off the party agenda, as he started calling it, one by one. The work is slow with Louis being a control freak and a perfectionist, and he finds flaws in everything, but the list calms him down, as long as he gets to cross the things off and watch the list shrink with time.

Before the shows he makes the customary speech in front of the whole office about the party, and how everyone is to behave. They have special rules for this year’s party, introducing a photo booth and a hasthtag #VogueNYFW.

‘You’re all to tweet and Instagram the party as much as you want. Focus on three things: A-listers, clothes and the overall feel of the party. The person who posts a drunk photo or anything that’s below the Vogue standard is fired, effective immediately. Don’t even bother showing up the next day. Sabine will provide you with a list of attendees, we’ve managed to round it down to five hundred. Learn it, know it. I want this party to boost our internet presence, to drive sales. Be proactive, if you have any ideas my door is open. You’re to be there at least forty-five minutes before the start. Take photos in the photo booth before the party starts. Everything else should already be sorted out. Department by department, come in the office, starting with the fashion editors, and bring your complete outfits with you. I am tolerating no mistakes here.’

Surprisingly, nobody is left with having to find another option clothing-wise after everyone filters through Louis’ office. He suspects it’s Zayn who is behind it, but he lets it go because his four-o’clock is stepping into his office, shades on his face and hair a mess.

‘Hello Niall,’ he chirps to the blonde man.

‘Hello Louis Tomlinson, editor-in-chief. What have you done with Harry? He showed up at the hotel looking like somebody ran him over with a tractor.’

Louis laughs at that, nodding to Niall to take a seat. He takes off his Berutti camel bomber jacket, and he’s left in a McQueen black shirt with a printed lion door knocker on it. He looks like a true pop star, keeping his shades on.

_(Niall's look:[jacket, trousers and boots ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/de0ac6d6e7f381899f807d868f91dfab/tumblr_ntutjulA7V1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/db0d4ca0280e0de879a9a5aeaf2e85ee/tumblr_ntutjulA7V1tawb72o2_500.jpg))_

‘Hungover?’ Louis asks, and he raises his voice to let Sabine know he’s they will need more coffee.

‘More than anyone should be with a schedule like this. How do you keep this up?’ Niall shakes his head, a smile on his face.

‘You get used to it, I guess.’ Louis just shrugs as Zayn enters the office and plops down next to Niall.

Niall throws himself on Zayn when he catches the sight of him, and Louis wonders what they got up to when Harry and him left last night.

‘What did you do when we took off yesterday?’

Niall’s laugh is loud, borderline hysterical, as he takes off his sunglasses and accepts the coffee from Sabine. ‘We drank some more, Jay Z asked me to come over to his for the after party and the guys came with. Jay Z is aces, man. He’s like Santa. There was a lot of food, and Zayn threw up all over Beyonce’s new shoes but then he told her they were ugly and he will get her new ones so she just laughed and took them off, threw them in the trash and gave Zayn a towel. I blew Liam, and there was also a dog Liam really liked so he asked me if we could steal it. We almost did, but apparently Jay Z has more than twenty bodyguards. In the end we went for burgers, and Zayn fell asleep there so Liam carried him until we found a taxi and took him to our hotel.’

Cackles escape his mouth as soon as he’s pushed the words out, and Zayn is shaking his head, face crumbling.

‘I threw up on Beyonce.’ His voice is whiny, and he throws up his hands meekly, like he can’t bother to put any effort in his actions. ‘And then I insulted her.’

Louis is still silent, watching them. That can’t be right. He picks up the phone and calls Beyonce.

‘Hi, how are you? It’s Louis Tomlinson on the line.’ He pauses, brows furrowed as he waits for the other person to finish talking. ‘I was just informed my creative director insulted you horribly yesterday. Is that true?’

Zayn is soundlessly sobbing across from him, and Niall is watching the whole thing unfold with amazement, coffee dripping down his chin. Louis will get them both executed.

‘Yes, I see. I am so sorry, I will personally see him sanctioned. It is not the kind of behavior we tolerate at Vogue, and I want to apologize on behalf of me, him and the whole company.’

Beyonce laughs at the ends of the line. ‘Please, we were all wasted. I broke a vase, Zayn threw up, don’t worry about it.’

Louis can’t believe he’s having this conversation with Beyonce over bodily fluids. He thanks her again, apologizing once more before hanging up.

Looking over at Zayn, he doesn’t even bother to scold him. This is probably the worst thing to ever happen in his life, given he’s worshipped Beyonce ever since he was a small kid. Instead, he calls Sabine over and tells her to send 100 pink peonies to Beyonce’s New York Apartment, and call Cavalli’s PR office and arrange a dress from the new collection to be sent over on behalf of Louis Tomlinson.

‘Let’s go over your setlist for the party, Niall. And you Zayn, you’ve got an alcohol ban until the end of Fashion Week.’

It takes them a full hour to settle on an appropriate setlist. Louis sends Zayn to change so they can leave for the shows, and he takes Niall around the office, texting Harry as they walk.

_‘Have you heard what they’ve done?’_

_‘Our story from last night is still better.’_

_‘You’re all on my murder list.’_

Harry sends back a series of emojis that can only be seen as anything that is remotely connected to sex, and Louis pockets his phone, picking up his coat from the steam room.

The shows run long, Harry sneaking into Louis’ car before him and holding him for the few minutes it takes to get from one location to the other. He’s beautiful, dressed in Haider Ackermann, white shirt unbottoned all the way to his stomach and beige pants hugging him so tight, Louis can see a faint outline of his cock when he walks. He’s kept the scarf from the runway look and he feels snuggly when he hugs Louis, even though Louis is wearing a coat and he shouldn’t technically be able to feel Harry’s hands press into his chest.

_(Harry's look:[full](https://40.media.tumblr.com/6d8781f8cda9c347dc01171fc39d76e6/tumblr_ntutm2RZQB1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_  

He does feel the kisses Harry leaves in his hair which he’s left completely natural, long strands loose and falling into his eyes.

‘Your hair feels so amazing. Silky.’

‘Mmmmhm.’

‘Can you imagine, just driving around town aimlessly, having the time to talk for once?’ Harry draws him in closer.

‘Let’s do that then, after the last show.’ Louis let his head fall back against Harry’s shoulder and closes his eyes.

‘Really?’ Harry’s kisses are littered across his jaw and over his eyes.

He turns his head to catch Harry’s lips, and it’s warm and sweet. He feels like he has known Harry for years and this is not just a temporary thing. Harry nudges his lips with his tongue slowly, dragging it across Louis’ lips, and when Louis grants him the access he takes it slow, like he’s trying to depict what Louis is made of.

When they part, there’s a smile playing on Louis’ lips and he drops his head on Harry’s shoulder and curls up closer.

‘Two more to go, then we drive.’

Harry smiles into his hair, and when Louis drops him off behind the corner so they won’t be seen together, he doesn’t joke about being a dirty little secret the way he usually does, just kissing Louis square on the mouth, a spring to his walk.

It’s almost eleven pm when they get to the car, backstage talks having taken longer than anticipated. Louis plops inside , Harry already waiting for him. Florence is slowly playing in the background.

He takes off his coat and gently hangs it on the spare hanger he keeps in the car, and crawls over to where Harry is slouched, leaning against the door, humming quietly under his breath. His head finds Harry’s shoulder almost immediately and he pulls up his legs and bends them at the knees so they’re resting on the seat, his body completely enveloped by Harry’s bigger frame.

Harry doesn’t waste time before hugging him bone-crushingly hard, his hands sneaking around Louis’ chest and then sliding lower, palms laid out on his stomach. He kisses Louis cheek and Louis turns around to give him better access, their mouths lining up and slotting together.

The car starts driving slowly, and Harry murmurs in his ear a quiet ‘How was today?’ as if they haven’t seen each other in breaks between the shows.

‘Good, nothing revolutionary, but I liked it. I’m tired, though.’

Harry licks his ear playfully, laughing. ‘I might be responsible for that.’

‘Yeah, you might be. How’s New York so far?’ He closes his eyes and lets Harry’s voice flood him.

‘The best yet.’

They talk about their families, Harry still visiting his every Sunday. They talk about their jobs, and Louis tells Harry he hasn’t slept more than five hours a night ever since he took over Vogue. They talk about the differences in what they do, Harry’s job more laid back supported by the fact Harry knows how to delegate and Louis can’t pressure himself to do it, even when he’s barely keeping his eyes open. It slips from Harry’s mouth that he’s never been in a serious relationship, the longest one three months at the time.

‘I fuck a lot of people. I like sex.’ When Louis doesn’t respond, he adds, ‘None of them ever came close to you.’

‘The last time I was in a relationship was when I was running Bazaar. It started way before that, but the editor spot was the turning point. We’d been together for three years, and I was home rarely, just nights and weekends, and even then it’d been hectic with business-related parties and such. It was my first editor position, and the one that set it off for me. If I’d slacked off then, I would never be here now. But James thought different. He wanted to get married, and live a life together. Slow down, he said. I turned down the proposal. Later I realized I loved him a lot, but he wasn’t the one. I believe there’s the one. I hope that one won’t ever tell me to slow down.’

Harry is quiet behind him, hand webbed in Louis hair.

When he speaks up long after, his voice is strained. ‘I get that.’

‘I know.’

They fall asleep in their boxer briefs, limbs entangled, and Louis matches his breathing to Harry’s before he lets himself close his eyes and drift off. He’s calm, exceptionally calm, and there’s a heartbeat next to his, belonging to someone that gets him.

He dreams and there’s a question of how long on the loop.

\-------

He informs Harry he won’t be going to London a few days after, just as the fashion clique starts packing their bags, ready to jet off across the Atlantic.

Harry nods, and tells him his schedule will be hectic anyway, as he wants to catch plenty of shows and needs to spend time at the office before they all move to Italy and France.

He promises to text Louis through the week apart, and when they part, Harry lingers only a little by the door, kissing Louis long and passionate.

‘I’m gonna miss waking up to you.’ He says as he picks up his suitcase, Gucci travel bag thrown over his shoulder.

‘Just in time for the bruises to heal.’

He laughs at that, walking over to the taxi where Niall is waving at Louis and Liam seems to be falling asleep next to him.

Louis yells a loud goodbye and closes the door, heading upstairs, ready to sleep undisturbed for what he may think will be more than five hours.

As soon as he wakes up, he’s faced with Harry’s face on his screen, a selfie he shot with Niall and Liam as they were walking into the Heathrow airport.

_‘You look ridiculous. Is that a pimple?’_

_‘Not everyone has a lifetime Chanel cosmetics supply.’_

_‘There’s also Estee Lauder. Don’t be mean.’_

_‘Niall says he got offers to play fifteen different private parties at the Vogue event.’_

_‘So he owes me one?’_

_‘He says he’ll buy you a house. Or a puppy.’_

_‘Since when do puppies and houses have the same value?’_

_‘I vote for the puppy. We can take him to shows.’_

_‘We already have Liam.’_

_‘I knew Liam was your favourite.’_

_‘Liam is my fav. #HisDickIsBiggerThanYours’_

_When he doesn’t get an answer, Louis sends another._

_‘Next time don’t dress him in leather leggings. I didn’t sleep with him.’_

_‘Gonna get you back for this.’_

_‘Good thing I’m not on the same continent for a week. I need to recover, my skin is dark blue.’_

Harry sends a series of food emojis.

Louis picks up The Times from his nightstand, opening the fashion section and smiling upon seeing the five of them at the Vogue party, and himself and Zayn exiting the shows yesterday right next to a photo of Harry at the same show.

He takes photo of the page, sending it to the group the five of them created before Fashion Week started, and calls Zayn to figure out where they’re going for brunch.

He’s never been more at peace during Fashion Week. He blames it on the sex exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to [me](http://otpwhatever.tumblr.com/) about Louis in that coat when you're done.


	6. Vanity Fair

There’s a new component in Louis’ life. It’s as if the world started spinning faster, and what was once crystal clear is now a little blurry, so he has to squint his eyes to be completely sure. Simply, Louis isn’t in control as much as he used to be. He can’t pinpoint it, well he could if he would really think about it but somehow that raises a hell of a lot of red flags in his brain. So he postpones it. At least that’s what he tells himself.

It’s not the magazine he is worried about, or his control of the industry and his connections. He’s still as influential, if not more, and there’s still so much to be done, to accomplish. This thing he feels in his mind and in his bones goes beyond just one sphere of his life. This is somehow deep within himself, and there’s something that doesn’t click just right.

He can feel it when he wakes up, a certain rush of uncertainty and the nagging feeling he’s missing something. It’s right there before him, he knows, but he’s not picked up on it yet. He also knows when he does, it will bitie him in the ass.

The week he spends skipping London passes in a heartbeat. He may not be there physically but it feels as if he almost is, with Zayn taking selfies at basically every attraction worth visiting, calling the London Fashion Week his ‘Britscapade’ and dialling Louis’ number a few days in to explain to him that even though he is working, he is also enjoying himself being a regular human.

A regular human with exceptionally beautiful face. And sculpted cheekbones.

It’s seven in the morning, rain is bathing New York City and Louis is once again lulled by Florence + The Machine. This time it’s a live performance from Glastonbury, and Louis is bobbing his head to the strong rhythm, singing under his breath. The office is vacant, the majority of the fashion staff accompanying Zayn.

His phone pings and it’s another photo of Zayn, this time from Ladurée. Well of course, when in Britain… eat French pastries. Zayn is splayed across the sofa, an arrange of macarons before him, and his legs are resting on, yes, that’s definitely Harry’s lap. He’s hunched over, checking something on his phone, in a green fluffy sweater and white trousers with delicate green embroidery.

_(Harry's look:[sweater ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/bb55a2b1da4566815d52bab8018ee965/tumblr_nu9ncxSb4J1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/ba313fe5e5a7e9dea320687b44621f0a/tumblr_nu9ncxSb4J1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

Louis smiles, his eyes raking over the small photo of Harry’s body. He looks beautiful and the green suits him, his torso looking like it’s covered in soft moss and trousers hugging his firm thighs. Louis is in love with the way Harry will choose patterns and prints over anything, but his favourite is when he goes for embroidery. He wears it perfectly, Louis thinks, gracious and proud, the way it’s meant to look.

He is debating how to answer, already walking over to the closet where there’s a full-length mirror to accommodate his need for an outfit photograph when there’s a notification from Harry.

It’s a close up of his trousers, the green embroidery crystal clear on the white cotton. Louis recognises the pattern. They must have just finished with Burberry.

Louis wishes he was there for a second, bantering with them and eating macarons. Maybe sitting a bit closer to Harry than strictly necessary.

He takes a photo in the mirror, his red and black patterned sweater a contrast to the light grey chinos. On his feet are his favourite buckled brogue shoes from Church, the ones he wears when he has a lot to do and places to be.

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/8e8a15fecf5468a7ba10ee6a002a8aba/tumblr_nu9nb5bb171tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [chinos ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/1d0b8a4bcdca6244a5b8cdd0927e222a/tumblr_nu9nb5bb171tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://36.media.tumblr.com/cafacd512f1e20c01900982f64de0d22/tumblr_nu9nb5bb171tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

A genuine smile on his face and his head tilted slightly to his right, hip cocked and shoulders straight, he takes a photo and sends it to the group chat with the caption ‘No macarons here’, and opens his chat to Harry to tell him how beautiful the trousers are, adding ‘Would have loved to fuck you after stripping those off.’

He goes back to the office and puts his phone on silent, anyone needing him urgently already informed to call Sabine’s desk straight away.

It’s the last day of London Fashion Week, and he wants the mock up for November to be finished today. He goes over the written editorial content and when he’s done with that he moves to the room where they keep a preview of the magazine in small form to check the order of the content.

November’s leading story is hats, Zayn opting to not shoot the editorial as his brain doesn’t do well with ‘covered heads’. Sometimes Louis wonders how Zayn lives, feeling so strongly about everything, never being able to put aside his emotions. It’s probably why they get along so well, Louis being the exact opposite. The main editorial is still fantastic and Zayn did a great job on his two spreads. Louis is quite proud of the issue in general.

Hats are very dear to Louis’ heart. If the hat is styled well, it gives the outfit a spark, differentiating the person wearing the hat from everyone else. He wants New York to wear hats this winter, and the world to follow.

It’s a long day, and his mind goes to Harry more than he is willing to admit. It’s the miniscule things that trigger it: the empty loveseat next to his window where Harry usually sits, or something he reads online, and his phone emitting blue light from the notifications from where it lies abandoned on his desk. He doesn’t pick it up, knowing once they start texting he won’t be able to stop. Instead, he goes over his agenda, checking things off and adding new ones, making sure Sabine has packed everything for him for tomorrow when he leaves for Milan.

He leaves the office only to settle with a bottle of rosé, the final mock-up for November and another one they’ve started finishing for December in his lap. He scribbles his final signature on the back cover long after midnight, Harry’s random texts distracting him from his usual fast routine.

Harry’s cheerful, sending him random tidbits about his friends and food, sometimes only shots of his shoes. He’s passionate about the designers he sees, going out of his way to visit even the ones that are only just starting in the industry, showing his support and dragging his famous socialite friends with him to give the shows a media boost.

Louis’ shower takes longer too, given he can’t stop himself from wanking off to the photo Harry sent him where he posed in his boxer briefs only, rock hard.

It was captioned with a simple ‘Missing you’, followed by an audio Harry recorded of himself getting off, short pants of Louis’ name repeatedly escaping Harry’s lips.

Louis feels on edge even after he comes off his high, laying in bed. His flight to Milan is in six hours.

\-------

‘It’s ridiculous, but somehow it works.’

Zayn should stop laughing at him already, and help him decide if this is the moment they stay or they flee the scene.

Harry nudges Louis’ shoulder with his, the shades of nude on their shoulders clashing. He’s calm, and there’s a tiny smile playing on his lips, but Louis can tell he’s restraining himself from commenting. The guy knows he’s on thin ice.

‘How did this happen?’ Louis turns to Harry, not sure if he should slap Zayn first to stop him from laughing or push Harry into his car, make him miss the show and change into another outfit.

He’s not once had to endure being seen in what looks like an almost identical outfit as someone else. And yet here he is, minutes before Prada starts, looking at Harry decked out in a long nude buttonless Carven coat, black leather ankle boots with a studded strap from Saint Laurent on his feet. Louis wants to punch him.

Instead, he turns his back to their group and enters the venue, stopping only to let Harry know not to show his face inside for at least another five minutes.

_(Harry's look:[coat ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/0431aa1d0ce19bd0fcf5b8d4f0f6c8c4/tumblr_nu9n8uxVwB1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3ceb30731afe501bb34da9f4fe11726c/tumblr_nu9n8uxVwB1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

He sits in the middle of the front row, and straightens his plain Saint Laurent black shirt and trousers, which are barely noticeable under his Givenchy nude coat with brown leather pockets, crossing his legs and staring straight ahead.

_(Louis' look:[coat](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ff9b85bfdbbf7f790d08981a61df5483/tumblr_nu9n7toCFg1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

Fucking Harry.

He normally notices what everyone is wearing in a collected way, checking off whether he likes it or not in his mind, occasionally jotting down reminders in his phone to find out what designer it was. It is always a purely professional thing. Until Harry Styles wears a nude coat to Prada.

Milan is not going the way Louis imagined it, and Louis’ imagination rarely runs wild. So far he’s been to what seems like a thousand meetings in preparation for various Vogue events that are held during the year around the globe. Mostly it’s for Fashion Night Out, an extravagant one-night shopping party that started as Anna’s idea and developed into a highly successful and PR-productive event that’s now held in more countries than there are Vogue editions. To improve upon it every year takes more effort than he would ever have thought possible. Not to mention time. He hasn’t been for a run once since he landed in Europe.

Harry, for once, is almost as busy as him, running around to meetings in between the shows and talking on the phone to his office every chance he gets. From what Louis managed to get out of him, they are behind with their schedule for the upcoming issues, and there’s two senior staff positions that need to be filled, leaving Harry to deal with a shitshow from another country.

There’s more, Louis is sure of it, but he doesn’t ask. The same way Harry doesn’t ask when Louis starts biting his nails while they are all sitting in Zayn’s hotel apartment eating dinner, brows furrowed as he keeps rereading an email exchange with the Conde Nast board members.

He wants to, but he knows better than that, reminding himself how it would feel if Harry asked him what got him distressed.

On top of it all, sex is not an option given that the two of them, together with Liam and Zayn, are staying in a small hotel with no privacy whatsoever, walls thin as paper. Louis’ senior fashion  editors are situated in the same hall as him, and every Vogue employee’s second best skill after fashion is gossip.

When Louis told Harry they wouldn’t be able to do it in either his or Harry’s room as he couldn’t have anyone find out about them, Harry just stared at him for almost a full minute. They were riding in the car together, dropping Harry off at the hotel after which Louis was scheduled to meet some of the foreign editors for an afternoon filled with meetings. Harry crossed his arms, his tight Kenzo shirt straining on the shoulders. ‘Please explain,’ was his only response, along with an expectant gaze, his eyes scrutinizing.

‘How should I -’ Louis dropped his head in his hands, massaging his temple carefully. His eyes hurt, and he let out a quiet gasp, thinking about how to lay this easily on Harry without getting too deep into his brain’s workings. Revealing his real thoughts, the ones Louis had about himself, was never a good option.

‘Look, I can’t.’ He sighed, turning his head towards Harry, who was still waiting, his face a picture of ignorance. ‘Conde Nast doesn’t forbid its employees to get involved. However, I’m not really just an employee. And neither are you. We’re running this shit. I can’t have any gossip about me, no matter how insignificant. I won’t have anyone call me incapable or accuse me of playing favourites. Every single thing you do from the moment you are first seen with me will be scrutinized. Every single promotion, or advancement in your career will be credited to me. I’m the most powerful person in fashion, Harry. And as long as you play for the same team,’ he shook his head at that, letting his gaze drop.

‘That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard.’

Harry’s tone was icy, and he looked at Louis as if he’d lost his mind somewhere between Cavalli and getting into the car.

The thing is, Harry wasn’t wrong. It was ridiculous, and quite possibly the worst explanation Louis could have offered him.

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Oh no, it’s your version of the truth. Or what you see as truth.’ There was no anger behind it, but Louis couldn’t help but notice disappointment flash across Harry’s face. When Louis didn’t respond, he continued slowly. ‘We have The Ritz next week. Let’s just get this one over with and we’ll, I don’t know, fuck then. Given that’s what we are obviously only doing.’

He jumped out of the car at that, leaving Louis in silence, his stomach in knots.

When they saw each other later at a party hosted by the Vogue Italia, Harry greeted him with a smile on his face and an extra champagne flute in his hands. Louis didn’t know what to say apart from thank you.

He blew Harry in the toilet, the party in full swing and everyone too drunk to notice. They were at one of the many rich hotels Milan had to offer, and he followed Harry to the bathroom after a minute, pushing the taller man into the small space and giving him a quick and effective blowjob that left Harry panting silently into the fist that he kept pressed firmly to his mouth.

It’s the first time Louis hasn’t talked while having sex, using his tongue instead. He hoped that he could convey everything he couldn’t say with touch. And judging by the way Harry held Louis’ head in his hands after, kissing him passionately, Louis thought he got the message just right.

So they dealt with their sex problems by having sex. Well, kind of. Louis left the toilet sporting a semi in his suit, not giving Harry a chance to return the favour, instead pushing him out of the toilet after checking not a soul was present and telling himself it wasn’t for his enjoyment anyway.

Fast forward to now, and he’s faced with Harry staring at him across the runway, his face a puzzle. Louis can’t tell if he’s scared or amused, or maybe just not used to seeing Louis lose his usual calm attitude in favour of slightly freaking out

If this was anyone but Harry Styles, Louis thinks, he would have insisted they take the coat off. Louis’ head hurts too much to understand why is it that he couldn’t ask Harry to do  the same. He closes his eyes, hidden under his glasses anyway, and drifts off a bit, the soft music playing in the background while stilettos click-clack on the runway.

He’s more than ready for Milan to be over.

\-------

Paris is always a clash of the titans. Vuitton, Balenciaga, Valentino. There’s more to it, and there’s extravaganza everywhere but whenever Louis has to sum the fashion week in Paris up in his mind, it’s always the mighty giants, now missing Givenchy. It’s Dior for the flowers, and the happiness Louis feels when he walks out of the venue, and the Grand Palais where Karl Lagerfeld displays his mastermind ideas for Chanel.

He misses his office and the routine by now, but it’s pushed to the back of his mind every time he sees Harry and a calmness floods over him. Sometimes he feels like he knows Harry from another life, and there are times when he doesn’t understand him at all, the way he inserts himself in Louis’ life like it’s nothing, and there’s no obstacles to them being a couple.

Right now, Harry is keeping him company, each tying up their own loose ends, glued to their phones.

They all left Milan as soon as the last show was over once Zayn suggested taking off a bit earlier than usual, messaging their whole group to ‘squad up’ and informing Niall he was expected to be there too.

The three left Louis and Harry as soon as they checked in to the hotel, off to do some shopping and dining.

‘You do your cardio,’ was all Niall said when he met them at the lobby, giving both Louis and Harry warm, heartfelt hugs.

Louis is sitting in a big comfortable chair that he’s pulled so it’s facing the bed where Harry’s laying on his stomach, legs bent at the knees and hooked ankles swinging in the air.

They are still wearing their airport clothes, both too lazy to change. Harry’s got his Fendi monster cap perched on his head, curls hidden in a short ponytail in the back. He’s singing softly to himself about what he’s doing, currently stuck on ‘I’m gonna reply to this email’, constantly changing the key repeating the same, simple melody. His shoulders move as he sings, swaying from side to side and the Tom Ford sunglasses he has tucked in his shirt are close to falling on the bed. It’s the first time Harry’s worn a simple plain t-shirt in front of him, and even though Louis is not fond of anything that’s simple or plain, the Margiela cotton does wonders on Harry’s body. His tattoos are showing underneath the v neck, and whenever he moves, there’s an outline of his muscles on the fabric. What Louis likes the most is the soft wool and flannel trousers in grey with contrasting charcoal patches that make Harry look like a popstar.

Harry catches him staring, and his smile appears momentarily, knocking Louis figuratively off his feet. Harry plops his phone down and rests his head on his hand, stretching the other one to stroke over Louis’ feet where they are resting a little further down the bed.

‘Your feet smell.’ Harry makes a bad interpretation of struggling for air, and Louis giggles.

Louis doesn’t giggle. Ever.

‘I bet yours do too. The only reason I can’t tell is because the French put so many vases filled with tulips in this apartment.’

Harry’s hand is gentle, his fingertips grazing over Louis’ skin. Up and down. And repeat.

‘Oh please, you like it.’ He smiles, like he’s known Louis for years now, and they’re each other’s life.

‘Never said I didn’t. But I prefer peonies.’

‘Does that mean you will ask for the staff of The Ritz to be fired now? Over tulips?’ Harry’s looking at him, his eyes shining with a gleam that changes from bright to faint.

_Twinkle, twinkle little star._

Louis is also sure he’s mocking him, big time.

‘I already did,’ he deadpans, and it’s got Harry gaping at him. Two can play the game. ‘Now you’ve learned never to mock my powers. No, I like tulips too. Can’t have it too repetitive, can I?’

Harry closes his mouth after a second, smile making a comeback on his face. ‘Good. And I’ll keep that in mind.’

He removes his hands from Louis’ feet to go dig through his black Givenchy Lucrezia tote with tiny white cross print over it. Once he finds his iPad and a keyboard, he sets to work again, still taking the time to occasionally graze his fingers over Louis’ feet.

_(Harry's look:[cap ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4f98d7fcb4be3e4455dba8d7550dc65c/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [sunglasses ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f1f557787fccd603e2d945fc0de4fb58/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [shirt ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9bcbd087ab16b7f3d736b5e6d319feee/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o4_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/96a04157de0e576d8505e8d082775d21/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o5_540.jpg)/ [bag](https://36.media.tumblr.com/b2a38d220e3f1f42b874b2d87e1f359e/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

They’re quiet as they work, Louis occasionally swinging his laptop Harry’s way to show him a photo of someone they both know or to comment on a particularly good outfit.

Sabine lets herself in after a while, and she stops in her tracks as soon as she sees the two of them. She’s always been his blind spot, Louis realizes as soon as her eyes fall on Harry and she freezes. He looks at her and then back at Harry.

‘Hi, I came to drop these off,’ she breathes, her expression amused as she eyes Harry, who still hasn’t lifted his head or realized something is off.

Louis wants to slap him and kiss him at the same time. Instead, he extracts his legs from Harry’s tender grip, stands up and stretches his legs as he walks to where Sabine’s standing.

His McQueen sweater is bundled around his waist, and he straightens it over his hips so the print of the lion’s head which displays over the front stands right, smoothing over the fabric of his black striped Ann Demeulemeester trousers.

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a71cd8687ad38ebee4ffebd3466545ad/tumblr_nu9n27LYsy1tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/0c3296d20ec9313b2aab19470d133ab7/tumblr_nu9n27LYsy1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘Thank you. I also have a few things you need to do.’

Sabine opens up her notebook on queue, and starts writing as soon as he starts talking.

‘First of all, push everything that was scheduled for today to tomorrow. Secondly, call Mert and Marcus and have them added to the agenda. Third, check the deadlines for the articles and have them all printed and on the iPad in the morning. There is a suit that needs to be picked up at Hermes. Get me the numbers on the issue for now.’ He stops for a bit, crossing the things off the list in his head. ‘Also, Townsend is in town and wants to meet me. What’s it about?’ He lifts his eyebrow, tilting his head a bit. ‘Nevermind, let’s get the meeting done on the last day here. Final shows are in the morning, schedule it for right after. Now, I know you can keep your mouth shut and I don’t need to point out how hurtful any sort of gossip could be. Do you understand me?’

Sabine looks at him and nods, once. She’s gripping her Moleskine notebook tight, pen in hand and knuckles almost white from strain as always, but she is showing no signs of discomfort. She’s seen a lot of him and Zayn over the years. Nobody was ever naked, but it could have been a great material for gossip nevertheless. However, Sabine never talked. And Louis is about to reward her for it.

‘Good. Now let’s talk about your career. You’ve been working for me for two years now, where do you see yourself next?’

An unspoken rule said whoever worked for Louis for a year could ask to either stay for another and seek a position in the magazine, or ask for a recommendation for anywhere else in publishing. And a recommendation from Louis was a done deal.

‘I’ve always wanted to work with Zayn.’

Louis knows that already, having seen Sabine grab the opportunities to assist Zayn with both hands, and Zayn was always talking about how committed she was.

‘Very well. I will talk to him, but as far as I’m concerned the junior editor position is yours. I will see to it that you work under his helm.’

Sabine nods, and steps forward. ‘Thank you, Louis.’

He wonders if her intention was to hug him, or maybe shake his hand. She doesn’t make another move.

‘Your last task after this will be training Jessica for the first assistant job and finding me a new second assistant. I expect ten candidates pre-interviewed and ready the first day back, understood?’

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, and she’s gone like the wind as soon as Louis mouths ‘That’s all’.

‘Boss Louis is hot.’

The voice comes from the bed, and when Louis turns around, Harry’s nestled himself on the million throw pillows, all tech accessories forgotten.

He looks hot, very hot, and Louis wishes he wasn’t tired to his bones so he could slowly rip his clothes off and fuck him thoroughly.

‘Boss Louis is knackered.’ He sighs, walking over to where Harry’s positioned himself on the bed and draping himself over Harry’s body.

‘I know, you keep yawning.’ His fingers play with Louis’ hair. It’s soft and still smells of the vanilla conditioner he used before the flight. ‘You mentioned something about cancelling today?’

‘Yeah, I thought we could use a nap. And then a dinner,’ he mumbles into Harry’s shirt.

Harry’s torso vibrates underneath him when he laughs quietly.

‘Okay, let’s just get under the covers, and I’ll get the blinds, yeah?’

Louis pushes himself up and takes of his clothes in an instant, texting the boys to not wake them before dinner time, and crawls under the duvet, on the right side of the bed. Harry’s behind him, warm and solid and he draws him in, arms heavy on top of Louis.

‘You heart is racing, everything okay?’

Louis wishes he knew how to answer that. Sometimes he just doesn’t really know.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then whispers. ‘I don’t really know. I don’t really know what’s going on with myself, ever.’

Harry hums, pressing his chest closer, breathing him in. ‘I don’t either, I think. We just go, go, go. Life is fast, fashion is faster. And we have to run, because we’re in the lead. At least you are.’

Louis thinks about it for a second and then he drapes his fingers around Harry’s hand, squeezing lightly.

‘What I do know, or what I think I know is...’ Harry stops at that, kissing him lightly behind the ear, and nestling his head further into the pillow. ‘There is a lot of mystery about how people do what they do. You know many burn up before they’re forty and there’s nothing left for them but to rethink all they’ve known up until that moment, what they thought was real. Showing off in general is so fucked up, because nothing makes sense. And what we do is show off, basically. It’s not our bodies, or our performance, but it’s our work. Every month we show off. One of my friends is a singer and she throws up every time she’s about to go on stage. But she still goes on. And so do we. We go and on. We don’t know any different.’ His hand travels up and down Louis’ arm. ‘What I’m trying to say here...’ He shakes his head, and Louis scoots closer, even though they are already pressed together from head to toe. ‘Nobody is you, and that is your power.’

‘You should tell yourself that, too.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah.’

Louis knows he’s fucked, right there and then.

\-------

Paris comes easily, like a breath of fresh air. Harry’s there with him and around him, trading blowjobs with him or just leaving kisses all over Louis’ body.

They’ve parted ways this morning only for Harry to get some new clothes before Chanel, and Louis decides to spend the time he has on his hands clearing his head. He runs for the feel of it, not for the miles, and stops only when he’s feeling completely free, like he’s left everything that’s pressing up on his chest behind.

When he gets back, his beauty team is already waiting for him in his apartment and he rushes to the shower, and hastily gets dressed, his outfit already laid out for him.

His life will be hell when Sabine leaves.

Today he’s recreating a look that was a big deal a few years ago, actually pulling out both the trousers, shirt and the shoes from Vogue’s archive, the part of the closet he established when he decided he wanted to keep a look here and there, just because he liked it.

His white crisp shirt is sleeveless and tight on him, and he buttons it all the way up. He tucks it into the black trousers that are hanging loose on his hips and all the way down his legs. They resemble cigarette pants, the crotch slightly dropped. Lastly, he adds the thin black suspenders, fastening them to the trousers.

_(Louis' look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/93a7bcc4eaa042039d0109fc656fbdb8/tumblr_ntzsvjKfYO1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

It’s a fine look, and after his team does his hair in a quiff and he sprays some cologne, he is more than impressed with himself.

Zayn is, too, if his ‘Oh, yes baby’ when he meets Louis in the lobby is anything to go by.

They look somewhat funny together, Louis opting to not wear a jacket, only in a sleeveless shirt while Zayn is decked out in a knee-length black silk duster coat and a red and purple print scarf around his neck.

_(Zayn's look:[coat and trousers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/b861adac0b59008bd62be980efb7cfc4/tumblr_nu9myjXPrV1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [scarf](https://41.media.tumblr.com/b317eccdf3f422a72c5063f684d15478/tumblr_nu9myjXPrV1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘I see you went for Dries today. Interesting, I’d expected a Chanel tweed jacket and the boy bag. Maybe even one of the classics, an LBD even,’ Louis talks as they walk to the car, his tone filled with mockery.

Zayn punches his shoulder. ‘Oh shut up, I look the way prestige feels.’

‘That you do. Now let’s see what’s Karl got for us.’

‘You mean what Harry’s wearing, and packing for you later, right?’

‘I will end you, Malik. You just wait.’

He doesn’t, at least not yet, even taking photos of Zayn in front of Grand Palais when they arrive too early, even by their own standards.

‘I think you should pose together, and the caption should be something along the lines of guess which season it is,’ there is a familiar voice coming from behind and when Louis turns around he can spot Liam and Harry approaching them, Liam smiling wide, clearly proud of his joke.

He’s a right candy, completely in Dolce & Gabbana, sweater falling loose on his shoulders, knitted in thick black and white irregular patterns that look like tiny blotches of snow on a black background. His trousers are also black with white embroidered flowers climbing up the leggings.

_(Liam's look:[full](https://36.media.tumblr.com/3a681baae1557fab695d78bf830efe40/tumblr_nu9mwnCC5K1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

Once he’s close enough, he draws Louis into a hug and pats him on the back, doing the same with Zayn. Harry’s silent next to him, and his eyes look almost hungry, raking from Louis’ shoulders all the way to his calves and then back up.

‘You look hot,’ he murmurs in Louis ear, stepping closer to Louis and nodding his hello to Zayn. ‘I will fuck you just in those suspenders when we’re done with this.’

And, oh, okay. Louis can work with that.

‘Let’s go before I get a fucking hard on before Chanel,’ Harry tugs his hand but lets go at once. His eyes are still dark, and Louis suddenly doesn’t care about the show that much.

‘We’re not going anywhere before we take photos!’ Zayn starts skipping around them, his arms flailing around and expression manic. ‘Look at us! Silk, embroidery, classic preppy tomboy and a zebra coat!’ He applauds silently to Harry who is, indeed, wearing a Haider Ackermann zebra coat, his shirt and trousers plain black and his boots silver.

_(Harry's look:[coat and boots](https://41.media.tumblr.com/43d1bc8ade6a25a52c1864525f93320b/tumblr_nu9mt1D1kV1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

Zayn waves over one of the fellow editors and hands them his iPhone, dictating his instructions speedily.

Louis can’t remember the last time he took this many group photos. He asks Zayn to send one to him as soon as they’re done, and he spends the rest of the time before the show casually checking Harry out, who seems to be sporting a semi, and uploading the photo to his Instagram.

Three shows before he gets fucked.

\----

They take separate cars back to keep up appearances, and Louis leaves his apartment door cracked open so he doesn’t have to let Harry in. He doesn’t wait long, only has time to take lube and a condom from his suitcase before Harry barges in, and he’s buttoned his coat, which can mean only one thing.

‘You fucking tease. I’m gonna make you moan so loud you’ll be screaming.’ He is walking towards Louis with angry steps, taking his coat off to reveal he’s hard already. He must have worked himself up in the car, and Louis is already dizzy from how much Harry wants him.

He waits for Harry to come to him, just standing next to his suitcase in the corner of the room with wide eyes, still fully dressed. Harry’s getting rid off his clothes with every step, now taking off his shirt with one swift move, buttons popping off and falling down on the carpet. His chest is already flush and his hair is bouncing wild around him.

How did Louis get so lucky?

He’s eager. He loves having sex with Harry, who’s bigger and heavy on top of him and fills him up so good he could write poems about it. Harry’s got a big cock, and it’s such a nice one, too, Louis feels like he can’t get enough of it. What maybe gets Louis going the most is how fucking good of a kisser Harry is, never leaving even an inch of his body untouched, alternating between biting his inner thigh and kissing his neck constantly.

Harry takes off his trousers and boxer briefs next, kicking them away as soon as he gets his shoes off. He picks Louis up in his arms, hoisting him up by his ass and Louis’ arms lock behind his neck instantly.

Harry smells like smoke, and a bit like sweat.

He carries Louis to the bed and drops him on the mattress, kissing him hungrily.

‘Damn, I won’t last long with you looking like this. Take your shirt and trousers off, and lock the braces to your boxer briefs, come on.’

Oh.

Harry sits back on his heels, watching Louis with nothing but lust written all over his eyes. His cock is standing upright, bouncing with the slightest movement. There’s already sweat over his chest, and he’s managed to fasten his hair in a bun at some point.

Louis’ mouth waters, and he swallows loudly, taking a deep breath before lifting himself up and taking off the shirt and then the trousers, keeping the braces on, and they feel weird on bare skin, but then he sees how hungry Harry looks when he looks at him, and snaps the right one across his chest. It sends shivers to his head and he’s feeling drunk, Harry murmuring a quiet ‘fuck’ and pumping himself slowly, twice, before sitting back and continuing to watch him, mouth open.

He doesn’t break eye contact with Harry whose chest rises and falls fast and heavy. He’s continuing to swear under his breath, and it’s filthy and hot and Louis wouldn’t be able to look away even if he tried.

‘So hot, fuck,’ Harry attacks his shoulder, blowing softly across Louis’ shoulder blade, raising goose bumps all over Louis’ skin.

Louis won’t survive this.

He kisses him with intent, exploring Louis’ mouth with his tongue while his hands travel from the collarbones down Louis’ chest, stopping to play with the nipples. He twists them and keeps them between his fingers for the longest time, biting at his neck playfully.

‘Arrrrggghhh, Harry, don’t toy with me.’ Harry laughs silently into his skin, flicking his right nipple and palming his cock over the fabric of his briefs.

‘You ready for me baby? I think you need just a bit more of toying, yeah? Wanna come untouched today?’

He definitely won’t survive this.

‘Fuck yes. You think you can make me?’ He smirks at Harry, getting on his hands and knees and perching his ass high in the air.

‘You little shit. First I’m gonna make you come untouched, and then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll come again.’

Louis is quite sure this is what heaven feels like.

He just nods, and that’s what gets Harry to rip the seam of his boxer briefs carefully so he exposes Louis’ rim, making a big gaping hole in the fabric.

‘You’ve just ripped my Calvins.’ Louis voices his completely dishonest shock, shaking his ass further into Harry’s face.

Harry smacks him hard across the cheek, tugging on Louis’ hair to make him turn his head around. They’re face to face now and Harry’s just the right amount of bossy and his eyes the right shade of wild.

'I need you to stay in those suspenders baby, because you make me lose my mind when I see you in them. And I’ll buy you new fucking Calvins.’

He tugs one more time, hard, and Louis moans for the first time, already desperate enough that he’s shaking, the sheets bundled around his knees.

Harry spreads Louis’ cheeks slowly, hooking his thumbs in the middle and watching as the flesh parts. He loves Louis’ ass, the way it moves and fills his hands when he grabs it. It’s his favourite thing to play with, the noises it makes when Harry smacks it and how soft it is under his lips.

Louis is already a mess beneath him, biting the flesh on his arm and watching him with half-lidded eyes.

‘You know what I’m gonna do now?’ Harry lets go of Louis’ ass and bites into the cheek, his tongue licking over the red mark for longer than Louis can handle.

He starts squirming, and when Harry looks up his eyebrows are raised, challenging him.

‘I’m gonna eat you out until you come. You are gonna thrash beneath me on your knees in your briefs that I tore apart and your fucking innocent braces and your hair all styled up, you’re gonna mess all that up and come just from my tongue in your ass.’

The sheets are wet from where Louis’ is leaving spit all over his arm, and he is panting. He sucks in a deep breath when Harry slaps him again, and nods, once, before dropping on his elbows and pushing his ass higher in the air.

Harry’s eyes are wide and dark, and he looks at the sight before him like it’s his present, the way Louis’ ass stands proud and waits for him to take over. He licks one long stripe all the way from Louis’ balls to his rim, taking his time, his hands keeping Louis’ cheeks apart.

He spits on Louis’ hole once, twice, three times before repeating the same process again, the fabric of Louis’ briefs restricting him from moving too much, but it’s hotter this way. He licks one more time, just around the rim, before lifting his head and pushing his hands up Louis’ hips and the dip of his waist, over the ribs to find the suspenders. He snaps them across Louis’ nipples and Louis lets out a groan, his whole body shaking.

‘Impatient, are we?’

‘Just get on with it, tongue, ass, aghhh,’ he loses himself when Harry dips his tongue into his hole, nudging at the rim and waiting for Louis to open up. ‘Yeah, fuck yes Harry.’

He licks up and down, on a loop, as Louis swears into his arm and then into the sheets. He drops his head, not even able to look at what Harry’s doing to him, closing his eyes and burying loud sobs into the pillow.

There’s spit on the fabric covering Louis’ ass and there’s spit trickling down Louis’ balls. He licks around the rim making eights with his tongue, loosening Louis up.

‘You’re so good for me, fuck. Want me to fuck you with my tongue?’ He blows over Louis’ rim and the muscles clench before opening up. ‘So beautiful for me, fuck.’

Harry presses his lips around the rim, and sucks. He sucks hard, not letting go, and Louis is keening high pitched noises into the pillow, his toes buried in the mattress. He bites gently at the rim at the same time as he lets go of Louis’ cheek with one hand, slapping him loud.

The flesh wobbles so much it pushes him in the face and he can’t stop himself from moaning at how fucking good Louis is. He licks over Louis’ hole soothingly before pushing in, hard. Louis clenches around him so forcefully his tongue slips up at once, and he goes back to licking around the rim, spit dripping down his chin.

Louis is broken, leaving tiny little sobs interrupted with loud moans into the pillow, and his thigh muscles are shivering from how on edge he is, not getting any friction on his cock.

‘You gonna come soon baby? For me?’ Harry asks before opening his cheeks as far as they go with his big hands and keeping them there, sticking his tongue beneath the rim again, pushing in as far as it will go.

‘Fuck, Harry.’ Louis cries out, and Harry can tell he is close by how his fists grip the sheets, pulling them in bundles closer to his face.

He buries his face deep, as deep as it goes into Louis’ ass and fucks his tongue in and out, moaning around it knowing it will send shivers down Louis’ spine. He keeps up a rhythm, although his jaw aches and his tongue feels numb and he could almost come himself, pushing so far in his teeth graze the muscle.

Louis starts grinding on his face, fucking himself on Harry’s tongue. He’s riding him, sloppy and whimpering as Harry chokes on it, barely able to get air from how relentless Louis is pushing for his high. He is almost sobbing, frustrated and needy, letting out tiny whimpers and then loud moans, lifting his head and dropping it instantly with how desperate he is.

Harry takes his tongue out to lick a few loud, slow stripes, pushing his head in the crack in the fabric all the way down to Louis’ balls, pressing behind and Louis grinds on it before breaking out another loud moan.

‘I’m close, fuck, do that again.’ And Harry does, pushing with his tongue behind the balls with as much force as he can muster, and when he feels Louis is about to come he licks a long stripe up to the rim and fucks his tongue back into the hole, pushing in as far as it goes.

Louis is yelling and coming into his briefs, his upper body barely holding up on his elbows as he shakes. He’s coming so long and so hard Harry stops licking him out and puts his arms around his waist to hold him, murmuring how beautiful he is into his skin and leaving tiny kisses under his armpits.

When Louis stops whimpering, and his breathing slows down a bit, he flips him over and kisses him. Louis grips his arm tightly and his eyes try to focus. He responds slowly, mouth moving along Harry’s, letting him bite his bottom lip and suck on it just as he had done on the rim, tugging on Louis’ hair to get him to come back to him.

Harry’s so hard he might lose it soon and he untangles one of his hands from Louis’ hair to grip his cock at the base, keeping himself from coming too quickly.

‘You gonna fuck me now?’ Louis’ voice sounds like he spent the day taking Harry’s cock and choking on it, and Harry kisses him so hard there’s nothing to it but teeth and sharp intakes of breath, but he knows it’s enough when Louis starts squirming beneath him, gripping his biceps harder. His eyes are bloodshot and rimmed with red, spit all over his jaw, lips bitten and swollen and dried tears in the corners of his eyes. He looks fucked out and so, so beautiful.

Harry uncaps the lube and coats his fingers, pushing Louis’ legs open and looking at his rim, shiny from his tongue and muscles opening up easily as Louis relaxes beneath him. The boxer briefs look crazy good on Louis, revealing only his pink perfect hole, and stretching over his ass, the suspenders pulling them up. Louis’ cock is slowly fattening up when Harry starts to push one finger in, clenching around him and letting out tiny whimpers. With his other hand Harry traces the underside of Louis’ thigh all the way to his ankle, and back again, kissing the skin beneath the knee and biting for a second before letting go, and attacking a patch of skin a few inches above.

‘More,’ is all Louis says, his eyes focused on Harry again, and he’s a fucking wonder of the world, restless and impatient on his back, his arms folded behind his head and chest moving in shallow motions.

Harry gives him another finger and Louis lets out a moan so delicious Harry’s cock starts aching from how much he wants him. He crooks his fingers to find the spot and presses, Louis letting out a sharp staccato ‘Oh, oh, oh’. Harry’s not gonna last long, precome dropping from his cock now and he reaches beneath the waistband of the briefs to take Louis’ cock in his other hand, pumping him slowly. It’s completely wet with come from before, and Harry’s so fucking gone his mind feels like he won’t ever be able to think clearly again.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Louis.’ He adds a third finger, and pumps a few times, but Louis is already so loose and ready from his tongue he doesn’t need to open him up further. He doesn’t know if he is even able to, so he just slicks himself up and pushes in, Louis letting out a loud ‘Yeah, so good,’ and his eyes fluttering shut.

He tugs on Louis’ cock in the same rhythm he thrusts his hips into Louis’ and once he starts to become sloppy, he pushes all the way in and stays there.

‘Grind on me baby. Fuck yourself on my cock, yeah?’ He drops his torso over Louis’, resting his head on his neck and holding himself with his left arm, the other hand still pumping Louis’ cock.

It’s a weird position, but Harry’s tired and they make it work, Louis panting in his ear every time his ass slams into Harry’s cock. He is chasing his high again, switching angles to make Harry’s cock press to his prostate and when he finds it, he shivers beneath Harry, his skin salty with sweat and burning hot.

‘You make me feel so good, ahhhh,’ and he grinds again, faster and deeper, ‘fill me up so good, such a big cock.’ Harry pumps Louis’ cock like his life depends on it as Louis seems to can’t stop talking. ‘You gonna make me come so hard around your cock, yeah? I’m gonna feel this for days.’

Harry loses it at that, the feeling of Louis pliant and fucked out underneath him, telling him he’ll walk around with this moment in mind, with the way Harry fucked him with his tongue and his cock. He starts coming, chanting ‘Louis, Louis, Louis’ into his chest and Louis’ rim tightens around his cock, making him blank out for a bit, letting go of Louis and gripping the sheets. Louis pumps himself as he continues to grind down on him, pushing his hips into Harry’s. Harry opens his eyes to see Louis tuck his cock back into the briefs and tugging hard before he spills again, coming long and so, so loud.

Harry thinks he’s ruined for the rest of eternity. There’s no way anyone will ever look or feel as good as Louis does, now breathing fast and his eyes closed, his legs loose and the suspenders stretched across his chest. His briefs are completely ruined, the tear coming almost all the way to his cock and the fabric damp completely. Harry tries to think of porn that was ever this hot and he realises nothing comes even close to how beautiful Louis is. He gently pushes the briefs down to reveal the skin on Louis’ lower stomach completely covered in come, licking it off in long stripes, taking his time to clean every last drop. He pushes himself up to lay down beside Louis, taking his head in his hands and kissing him slowly. Louis can taste himself on Harry’s tongue. He’s definitely sure this is what heaven feels like.

\------

‘Can time speed up? Are you a magician?’

Harry looks up at him from his laptop for the first time in an hour. He’s writing an editorial and he’s been perfectly still apart from his fingers slamming across the keyboard at an alarming speed.

They are in Louis’ apartment again, working for an hour and then lounging for the next, a schedule they came up with when Louis kept distracting Harry by attacking him with tickling every available surface on his body.

‘What do you mean?’ Harry’s brows are furrowed in concentration and he’s wearing his glasses, his hair in a bun.

‘I mean that Paris is already almost done and I feel we’ve only just landed. And I don’t usually feel like time flies. So, are you a magician?’

Louis is toying with the idea of going to the balcony for a smoke, the fact he still has more than a dozen emails to respond to causing dull pain in the back of his head.

‘Time flies only when you’re having fun, Louis.’ Harry’s smiling, skimming over what he’s written before lifting his gaze to properly look at Louis. ‘I’m obviously your fun.’

He winks, clearly satisfied with that statement.

‘Okay, let’s finish this up, there’s another fifteen minutes of work, and then you can fun me again. Any special wishes? I was thinking the pool. Or the outdoor jacuzzi. I vote for a smoke in the jacuzzi. A fuck afterwards.’

‘I need to finish this and then I’m done for the day. So yes, I vote yes. But also food.’

‘I will feed you strawberries in the jacuuz then, Styles.’

‘What kind of a word is jacuuz?’ Harry’s laughing, Louis’ favourite sight.

‘The kind that makes you want to eat fruit while relaxing in the hot water,’ Louis responds, like it’s the most logical thing in the world.

‘Okay, but I want a burger. Or pasta. I can’t fuck on strawberries.’ He winks and drops his gaze back to the screen.

Louis smiles back, knowing Harry can still catch it, before getting up and ordering food.

Paris really is flying by. And Louis has never seen so little of Paris in all of his years of coming to the shows.

Harry gives him the editorial to read when he’s done, pushing the laptop in Louis’ lap before he stretches over the king-sized bed like a starfish, closing his eyes.

‘You did good.’ Louis says once he’s done reading, a four-page spread captivating as well as entertaining. ‘You’ll go places, kiddo.’

Harry blinks, and gives him a tired smile before getting up and cracking his spine.

‘Thanks. I’ll go get changed and meet you at the jacuuz, yeah?’ He drops a quick kiss to Louis’ lips before taking all of his belongings and disappearing behind the door.

Louis takes his time changing into his swimming shorts, knowing Harry is fucking slow when getting ready and will probably Instagram three things before actually thinking of stripping his clothes off.

He’s still the first one to get to the last floor of the hotel in his bathrobe even though he called both his mom and Zayn in the meantime. He gives his name to the staff and lets them know one person will be joining him under the same name before dropping his ass into the water at once. There’s an array of food on silver platters placed neatly right next to the brim of the jacuzzi along with the bottle of rosy Moët, Louis favourite, and a pack of Marlboros, Louis’ other favourite.

He lights one up right away, trying to make proper smoke rings until Harry barges in looking glorious and dishevelled.

‘Took you long enough.’ Louis gives him an amused grin, signalling for Harry to jump right in with his hand.

‘I think I fell asleep.’ Harry’s shorts are even tinier than Louis’ in white and black thick stripes. ‘I am so fucking tired.’

‘Fashion week is a bitch, yeah. Early shows and late parties. And a shitshow in between.’

‘And you.’ Harry looks at him seriously, like Louis is the worst of it all, until he cracks and smiles, popping a strawberry in his mouth.

‘And me.’

He settles in next to Harry, leaning his head in the familiar space between his neck and shoulder. They take random bits of food, each from their own side of the trays, and talk while they eat, sipping champagne.

‘So much for spending the time with the guys,’ Harry says once he’s done eating his burger, and then the fries and then the chicken cesar salad.

‘I actually don’t think I’ve seen Niall other than that one time we all went for dinner.’

Harry hums, massaging his scalp. ‘You know what, I think they’re all fucking. Or at least blowing each other.’

He laughs, knowing exactly what Harry’s getting at. ‘Before we started fashion week, I made a mental note to keep track of how many out of five will fuck before the end.’

Harry barks out a laugh in his ear, licking his ear playfully. ‘Well you could have been sure for two out of five.’

‘There is nothing to be sure of, you could have seduced Obama in the meantime and I could have been history, you never know.’

‘Obama’s got nothing on you, baby.’ Harry blows gently in his ear before handing him a newly filled flute.

‘Yeah, nobody can compete with my bootyliciousness. Speaking of sex, should we take this to the bedroom? I have a special plan for you today.’

Harry swallows loudly and nods, sucking a mark into the skin behind his neck.

Turns out Louis’ plan is affecting Harry more than he could have ever predicted. When they meet back in the apartment, Louis kisses him greedily before instructing him to help him rearrange the room a bit.

‘Do the sofa, just move it,’ Louis tells him as he strides across the room and picks up a life-sized mirror with a golden frame that’s standing next to the opposite wall. He half carries it, half drags it to the bottom of the bed and places it there, adjusting the angle.

When Harry turns around and spots Louis stripping off next to it, he groans, grabbing Louis by the shoulders. ‘Oh god I need you, so much,’ he’s licking inside Louis’ mouth, kissing him wet and dirty, all tongue.

They’re both still half wet, water dripping from their hair. It’s so fucking hot Louis has a hard time concentrating on the task at hand.

After kissing Harry and rutting up against him, tiny whimpers escaping his mouth only to be swallowed by Harry, he turns them around, walking Harry over to the bed, not letting his lips leave Harry’s. ‘I’m gonna make you fall apart and you’re gonna watch yourself in that mirror, baby.’

Harry pushes his straining erection into him, grabbing Louis’ ass and gripping hard to show how on board he is with the idea. Harry squeezes his ass so hard Louis hisses into his mouth and does the same to Harry, nails digging into the wet shorts.

‘Off, off.’ Louis pushes him on the bed and tugs the shorts off Harry’s long legs. He wants to get off between his firm thighs, and kiss the inside of his calves, biting every inch of skin there. Harry’s legs are perfect, a fitness goal, and Louis is so fucking lucky.

Harry’s cock springs free and he’s almost fully hard from their talking shenanigans, and the mere idea of seeing himself getting fucked by Louis.

‘Louis,’ Harry groans, pulling Louis on top of him, attacking his mouth and searching for friction on his cock. Louis pulls at his hair and he can’t think, there’s nothing but Harry and Harry’s the whole world right now, his skin the only thing that makes sense, wet and warm under Louis’ tongue.

Louis straddles him, sitting on Harry’s hips so their cocks line up and Harry’s hands are back on his ass instantly, gripping and squeezing. Louis needs to mark him up before he lets Harry in front of that mirror, and he starts off by the neck, finding the soft skin behind Harry’s ear and licking at it before he starts sucking a deep, red mark into it. He makes an art out of it, going for deeper, more painful bruises around Harry’s collarbones and littering softer ones on the inside of his bicep.

Harry’s getting worked up, pumping his cock through it and letting out whines, frustrated and not patient enough.

‘Louis, I need you,’ his voice gravels, Louis still nipping at his skin. Louis’ hands run up and down Harry’s torso, and his eyes are livid as he admires the view in front of him.

‘I did some nice work on you,’ he kisses Harry once, sucking Harry’s tongue into his mouth and whimpering as he grinds down so Harry takes both of their cocks in his hand. They’re already slick with precome because Louis took his fucking time sucking bruises all over Harry’s torso and Harry’s so horny it’s almost impossible for him to wait any longer.

‘Wanna see it?’ When Harry nods he climbs off him, and Harry scrambles to crawl in front of the mirror, his head inches away from the glass, eyes wide. His shoulders, chest and arms look like a painting, ranging from faint red to deep purple, different shapes and bite marks strewn in irregular patterns.

‘Jesus fucking Christ.’ He pants and closes his eyes, shaking his head, trying to gain some self control. He wants to see this, Louis ruining him. He wants to remember how he looked and how wrecked he can get.

Louis’ face breaks into a dirty smirk behind him as he coats his fingers with lube. Harry forgets to breathe, the only thing he’s capable of doing is watching Louis fuck him whichever way he wants it.

Louis takes his cock in his hand, pumping slowly, spreading lube over himself. He moans loudly, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, and Harry has a hard time keeping himself up, his hand taking a hold of his cock. Louis’ pupils are fully blown and his hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead, water dripping over his chest and back.

He circles Harry’s hole with his thumb slowly, and presses his face inches away from Harry’s ass, blowing softly over it, making Harry shudder. He’s on edge and nothing’s even happened yet, but it’s always like that with Louis. He always wants to fuck Louis or have Louis fuck him and he always wants more, to feel him on his skin and inside him and in his mouth. Just ravish him and let Louis ruin him.

Louis presses in his thumb slowly. ‘Want this baby?’ He’s nipping at Harry’s hip gently, his other hand travelling to Harry’s waist and squeezing.

‘Fuck yes, want it all,’ Harry doesn’t bother to look at Louis when he answers, instead  watching himself say it, looking at how wrecked he is, his pupils blown. Only Louis could get him like this.

Louis pushes in his thumb in and out, straightening his back to look at him in the mirror, locking their eyes as he takes his thumb out and replaces it with two fingers, pushing in all the way to the third knuckle. It’s quick, and dirty, and there’s nothing but a sound of his fingers slamming into Harry in and out.

‘You’re a fucking sight, look at you.’ Louis’ voice drops an octave. ‘Come on, take your cock in your hand love, let me see you.’

Harry shuffles, putting his weight on his right hand and pumping himself slowly, moaning when Louis presses his fingers in and crooks them just right.

‘Ahhhhh, no, fuck,’ he is shivering, and his thighs are already trembling, Louis adding a third finger, pushing it in next to the other two.

‘Want me to stop?’ Louis extracts his fingers, smirking at him, eyebrows raised.

Harry can see he’s as worked up as him, his cock leaking precome and his chest pink, breathing shallow. ‘Like you could stop.’

‘Hmmm, you’re right there,’ Louis tells him with a straight face, looking at him in the mirror and at the same time slamming all three fingers back into Harry’s hole.

Harry is so responsive, moaning loudly and hips jerking up, grinding on Louis’ fingers.

‘Want your cock,’ Harry pants, dropping down on his elbows and lifting his head so he can see Louis better in the mirror. His ass is sticking up in the air and he can see Louis’ satisfied smirk as he puts on a condom and drips lube all over his cock and Harry’s hole, smearing it and pushing it inside the rim with his fingers.

Louis gives him a cheeky grin and then he lines himself up and pushes in, painfully slow, getting Harry to groan loudly.

‘Louis!’ Harry’s losing it, Louis just taking his precious time, eyes raking over Harry’s body in the mirror.

‘You play with me, I play with you.’ He moves at that, slowly, but moves, and then he bottoms out, his cock filling Harry up so good there should be stars dancing around his head in the mirror. There’s nothing better than this, nothing coming even close to Louis taking care of him like this.

As soon as he starts thrusting into Harry, he takes his cock in his hand too, watching Harry with hooded eyes.

‘This might be the best idea I’ve ever had,’ Louis tells Harry’s eyes in the mirror as Harry starts whimpering silently and then louder, sweat and water trailing down his back.

Harry can’t stop looking at himself and then back at Louis. They look so good together, and even though he can’t see Louis’ cock disappearing into his ass, the sight of Louis’ body moving behind him, and Louis losing his rhythm and just thrusting as hard and as fast as he can go while he is sloppily pumping his cock has him pushed over the edge. He comes hard, blanking out for a second and his hole clenching around Louis’ cock as Louis keeps pushing into him, only a few shallow thrusts before he’s coming too, moaning loudly and letting out every curse he knows.

When Harry opens his eyes Louis is looking at him with wonder in his eyes. ‘Look at you, fuck, I’ve ruined you so good.’ Louis pulls out and Harry lays on his stomach, not sure if he will ever be able to move again. There’s a body on his in seconds, warm and pliant and familiar, hugging him and kissing his neck.

‘Definitely my best idea yet.’

Harry just laughs, shifting his head so he can see them partly in the mirror. He’s been all over the world, and has seen so much beauty in fashion there’s not much that can impress him easily anymore. And yet here he is, with a man breathing silently on top of him, and he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

They get up only when Liam won’t stop calling them, first Harry then Louis, and then he gets either Niall or Zayn to help him because both of their phones are now ringing and they are laughing so hard Louis rolls off Harry to clutch at his stomach.

‘We are so wanted,’ he whispers to Harry, and then bursts into another set of giggles, rolling on the bed. Harry gets up to answer, and apparently they have fifteen minutes to get ready.

‘We’ve been called fuckers and little shits, so I think we better move.’ Harry tells him as he puts on his bathrobe. ‘Meeting in the lobby in fifteen.’

And when they are cramped around a small table in one of the unknown restaurants Niall likes, and knows the owners too, Louis is still laughing, holding Harry’s hand under the table and feeling like time’s only accelerating, hours passing like minutes.

Later, looking back, he’ll realize it was the last time he felt that at peace and happy, pinpointing it as the day everything somehow made sense.

\---------

Townsend is sitting across from him at L’Avenue, the most pretentious place out of all the pretentious places in Paris, right on The Avenue des Champs-Elysées. They’ve finished their lunch, and are waiting for dessert, Louis sipping his rosé patiently, not wanting to get tipsy in front of the only man that is above him in the Conde Nast hierarchy.

Louis knows something big is about to come up by the way the man places his jaw on his hands and looks him straight in the eye. It’s always either money, or something that will eventually lead to more money.

His voice drops. ‘We are letting go of Graydon. Well, he will be advised to resign, as always. We want fresh blood to take over right after the Christmas holidays. And I need your recommendation among these three candidates,’ he provides a list seemingly out of thin air and pushes it across the table to Louis.

 

_Conde Nast_

_September, 2015_

_Publication: Vanity Fair US_

_Job position: Editor in Chief_

_Candidates:_

  1. _Emily Firestone (Net A Porter and Mr Porter Magazine, Executive Editor)_

  2. _Leonardo Hublot (The New Yorker, International Editor)_

  3. _Harry Styles (GQ UK, Editor in Chief)_




 

Louis looks up from the list, sweat already forming on his forehead.

‘Thank you for your trust, I will give you my opinion by the end of the day. However, I do have a question. How did you come up with this list?’ He makes it his mission not to let his voice falter, showing no sign of the fact there’s a monster ready to crawl up from under his skin.

Townsend smiles at him, clearly expecting a similar question. ‘All of them are young, talented and ready for the job. The first two are currently being head hunted for different positions. The third one, Styles, openly stated his ambition to move in another direction soon, and asked for a possibility to be transferred inside the Conde Nast family. The last we talked was during New York Fashion Week, and he made a point about how his preferences is the States.’

Louis nods, a lump in his throat. ‘And who is your personal candidate, sir?’ Louis asks his last question, already almost sure of the answer.

‘Styles.’ Townsend nods and smiles, and Louis mirrors him, taking the list and carefully storing it in his Louis Vuitton bag.

He doesn’t remember dessert, or saying goodbye to his boss. He leaves the restaurant in a rush, his heart thumping loudly and tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

His driver doesn’t ask him anything, just slams the door after he gets into the car and navigates the streets of Paris a lot faster than usual. He calls Zayn on the way to the hotel, asking where they all are, and when Zayn asks if everything’s okay he tells him the truth, that he’s not sure, but he needs Zayn to lie to the rest and tell that the meeting’s going to be longer than he thought.

‘I also need you to come back to my apartment in an hour, if I’m not there yet wait for me. Don’t bring the rest, make up a story.’

He sounds panicky, his voice coming out higher than usual as he swallows down tears he’s not ready to spill yet. Not until he figures this out.

‘Okay,’ Zayn says before he hangs up, and Louis knows he would ask more but can’t after Louis told him to keep it a secret.

He changes quickly, taking out his running shoes for the first time since arriving in Paris and taking only his hotel card key and his iPhone with him before setting off.

Picking up a slower pace, he wanders streets he doesn’t know, zig-zagging as he wishes and not bothering to think about where he’s going. The music he picked out is loud and relentless, bass thumping in his ears as his heartbeat finally starts slowing down, getting accustomed to the regular pace his feet keep on the pavement.

Fucking Harry Styles.

If anyone had ever asked Louis where he saw Harry, it would be Vanity Fair. A mature set up, not focused solely on fashion. Harry would be perfect for it, working with celebrities and big time writers, and he would have free will to create the content he desired, not focusing only on one target group.

But the thing is, he can’t. Because it would be favouritism. Maybe not if he stops seeing Harry after it, at least not in the public’s eye. Oh, who is he kidding, it’s clear favouritism and it’s fucking disgusting and he’s not the kind of person who could live with himself after doing it.

Looking at that list, the only thing he saw was Harry’s name, not even giving the other two a chance. He’s got Harry Styles tunnel vision and he’s gonna ruin this for Harry now.

True, he doesn’t know if Harry wants it, but he would be a fool not to.

‘He made a point about how his preferences is the States,’ the words come back to him, echoing in his head.

What’s up with that? Why would he move, leave everyone, his friends and family?

Louis goes back to that afternoon in the office, the first time he read anything Harry had written.

‘I don’t think home is a country or a place. It’s a soul that fits yours.’

Louis’ head hurts from the amount of information he suddenly possesses, and his heart hurts too, because he is going to pick the guy from the New Yorker even though Harry is a perfect fit.

There is not really much to think about. He can’t change his decision and he cannot make this right, but he runs anyway, a dull ache in his chest.

The question  ‘why didn’t he tell me’ is persistent in his thoughts, written in big and bold letters under his eyelids whenever he blinks. He doesn’t understand anything anymore, not why he feels this way or what makes that particular question hurt so much, not when he never asked. Rationally, he knows it’s Harry’s life and ultimately Harry’s wishes and decisions are his own and not anyone else’s, and so he repeats it to himself, first silently in his head and then murmuring it as he runs, hoping it will stick that way and the storm that’s building inside of him will stop.

He goes back to the hotel only when he can’t stand any more, let alone run, dragging his feet to the hotel. He tells himself to get it together until he believes it.

The person waiting inside his apartment is not Zayn, but Harry.

Louis spots him before Harry has turned around and seen him come in and he thinks of bailing, turning around and setting off on a wild quest to murder Zayn’s bony ass.

He doesn’t because it’s Harry, and he’s going to hurt him now, and it’s better to get over with it. Louis clears his throat and when Harry turns around there’s a gleam in his eyes, and he strides toward him happily.

‘I know you have something to tell me, Zayn told me. But I want to go first, okay? Please?’

Louis just nods, not sure how this could go any worse if he lets him.

‘We went to lunch today and I told the boys what I am about to tell you now, and they all said to go for it, to be honest with you so yeah, I’m gonna, I’m gonna do that.’ Harry keeps his gaze steady, his eyes boring into Louis’. ‘I want to make this real. This thing we have, I want us to try and make it a real thing.’

Louis thinks he will faint.

Harry takes a sharp intake of breath and then continues, his monologue flowing steadily as if he rehearsed it. ‘It’s not just about sex, Louis. We keep each other in each other’s pockets and I can’t sleep properly when you’re not in the bed next to me. I know it’s so much and you’ve told me we can’t, but I’m asking you to give me a chance here. I am in love with you, Louis.’

He smiles, stepping closer, until Louis can feel Harry’s breath on his face.

Louis doesn’t say anything for a long time, and then he screams.

‘What the fuck Harry?’ He throws his hands in the air, stepping away from him and gripping his hair in frustration. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

His bag is on the other side of the room and he storms over, taking the sheet out and shoving it into Harry’s face. The paper is crumbled and his fist connects with Harry’s forehead for a second before he lets it go, and Harry catches it before it falls down on the floor.

Louis turns his back to him, taking huge gulps of air to calm himself down. He’s on the verge of crying, and he hasn’t cried in years. Some things in life are meant to be dramatic and loud, and he knows this one will be one of them.

Harry’s just staring at the sheet with wide eyes, silently shaking when Louis turns around to look at him and it’s all that takes to make Louis starts talking, vomiting words without thinking them through.

‘Are you an actor? Is this a game to you? Please explain, Harry, because as far as I can tell you’re here, playing both sides with no fucking shame. You fuck me and tell me you love me, when at the same time you push your way for a promotion under the same company. Are you dumb? Have you got no common sense? I told you we can’t ever happen if we work for Conde Nast. I told you, and you ignored me, and you continued to push this fucking thing. And then I told you again and you still haven’t done anything to stop this.’

‘This is the same rank, Louis, what -,’ Harry whimpers silently, tears streaming down his face. ‘Why do you have this list?’

Louis starts laughing, evil barks of air escaping his lips. He cannot believe this is happening. He genuinely thought Harry was smart.

‘Because it’s my decision! I make the decision who gets the job!

‘But you have nothing to do with Vanity Fair,’ Harry is staring at him like he wants Louis to tell him this is all a lie, that he is just pulling a prank on him.

All this time Louis made it a point in his mind to believe Harry didn’t know about this, and this was something Townsend is springing on both of them. He didn’t want to believe Harry could be this stupid, or conceived to do this, to actually think of this scenario. But one look in Harry’s eyes now is enough for him to know that Harry knew all along, and was planning to get a job in the US and ask Louis to take their relationship further, making it real. Without ever consulting Louis, or listening to what he’s saying. ‘It’s your version of the truth.’ Harry’s words from Milan come back to Louis and he loses any shred of self control he had, screaming his way into Harry’s head, making him understand.

‘I have everything to do with it! I am Conde Nast, Harry! It’s always up to me!’

His voice cracks from the strain and he’s crying now, too, big fat tears escaping his eyes. Harry looks like a lost puppy, looking at him and then down at the paper.

He can’t stop himself from whispering, sending daggers in Harry’s direction with his eyes: ‘You’re not getting the job, and you’re not getting me either.’

Harry puts the paper on the coffee table next to him and turns out to leave, pausing to admit, completely defeated: ‘I thought you would see it.’

‘Don’t make this about me, Harry. You fucked up, you never said anything and you made plans without me and you know nothing. You could have cost me Vogue, you could have cost yourself a career. You ruined everything, and you told me you understood. You told me you got it.’ Louis looks at him one last time, his eyes red and vision blurred. He’s crying so hard he cannot stop. ‘Now get out.’

As soon as the door slams shut, he falls down on the floor, sobbing into his sleeve. The walls seem to be pushing in and the room is getting smaller, and he doesn’t have enough air in his lungs.

Later, he doesn’t know how much, Zayn finds him in the same state, curled up into a ball, swaying, tears still streaming down his face. He’s lost his voice already, and he can barely breathe, but he cannot stop crying.

Zayn doesn’t ask, just hugs him from behind, pressing his chest into Louis’ back and putting a blanket over them, trying to stop Louis from shivering.

At one point, Zayn murmurs, ‘Lou, it’s been more than an hour. I need you to stop crying,’ and gets him up and into the bathroom, stripping him and placing him gently in the bathtub, hot water falling down his face and chest, burning his skin.

He grips the edge of the tub and Zayn stands there, whispering ‘It’s going to be okay,’ over and over until Louis starts to believe it and there’s no tears left.

Louis gets dressed slowly, slapping himself to regain control, at least a little. In the meantime, Zayn orders what seems to be every single bottle from the bar and climbs into bed next to him. 

Louis drinks until Harry isn’t real.

 


	7. Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter includes detailed description of panic attacks. (If you're not sure if you can handle it, come talk to me on tumblr, also if you can't read it I can give you a chapter summary so you can still finish the fic :))  
> Once again, thank you so much for reading and leaving comments
> 
> [Spotify playlist for this chapter](https://play.spotify.com/user/lucche94/playlist/6c4yf0yy8AJovxrT1ILhr6)

 He wakes up to three things. A wet pillow, a warm body next to his, and Sabine clearing her throat loudly.

He blinks his eyes open to find her staring at him with a steely gaze. She waits for him to raise his eyebrows before she opens her mouth.

‘I’ve booked another flight for you, because the one you were scheduled to take is leaving in less than two hours. You can still make that one, if you want to, but I wanted you to know you have options. Also, I’ve left everything that is due today on your desk. Yesterday I send an email asking Mr. Townsend to extend your deadline on the Vanity Fair decision until today at noon. I suggest you call him.’

Louis nods at her. She’s stepped over quite a few lines right there, but he’s grateful she did.

‘I’ll take the later flight. Did you book a ticket for Zayn, too?’ He pleads with himself to keep his eyes open, Sabine crossing the space to his bed and sliding an envelope with travel information into his hand. There’s two tickets, just as he expected, one for him and one for Zayn.

‘Good. You can take the early flight. Before you leave, get someone to bring me coffee. Extra shot. And the usual for Zayn. And tell them to keep them coming until we leave for the flight.’

There’s a hint of a smile on Sabine’s face, and he’s not sure what to do with it, so he waves her off. ‘Oh, and I expect ten pre-interviewed candidates for the assistant job by noon tomorrow. Consider it your farewell party.’

Her back is already turned to him and he almost misses the tiny laugh that escapes her. ‘Goodbye, Louis. Have a safe flight.’

‘You too.’

The alarm clock on his right tells him it’s a little past eleven, and the Parisian sun seems to have escaped behind the clouds today, the golden details in his room subdued under the dim light.

His head feels the size of a watermelon, pulsating as soon as he lifts it from the pillows. Zayn wasn’t joking with his order, the hotel staff bringing them a serving cart filled to the brim with nothing but strong stuff.

They started with tequila, because Zayn knows that tequila makes Louis talk. Not to burn their livers completely, they switched to scotch, but only briefly, Zayn deciding on gin and tonic for the rest of the night.

He looks over to the tray, and the bottle of gin lies empty, another one opened next to it...

They did it in phases, as they always do. It’s a ritual with him and Zayn, after more than a decade of friendship. It’s no wonder they have a way of going through it by now. First there was the sobbing, which must have taken Zayn by surprise because the last time Louis cried was so far back into the past even he has a hard time remembering the details. But Zayn did good, letting him be until his sobs started being too painful. Then came the silence, and eventually, when he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore and the chemicals in his bloodstream took over, he told Zayn everything.

Funny thing with them is they go glass for glass whenever they drink, always on the same level of drunkenness, so when Louis asked Zayn why he let Harry into his room when he asked him not to, it took only a sentence for him to start whimpering and fat tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Louis would have laughed at how juvenile it all was, but he was sloshed even worse than his friend, barely keeping himself in check, just enough to catch when Zayn started apologizing.

‘I thought it would help, whatever it was that had got you upset, I thought him saying I love you would help.’ Zayn looked at him with sorrow. ‘I didn’t know it was this bad. Fuck, what was he thinking?’

He seemed regretful, stroking Louis’ hand with his own. By that point they were both sluggish and slurring their words, but the sentiment was still there. When Louis shrugged, too tired to offer anything new as to how Harry would have thought this would ever work, Zayn continued.  ‘The thing that Townsend told you. How much do we trust him?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s an old bastard. Yeah, he’s our boss and all that. But is there a chance he didn’t tell you the whole truth?’ Zayn was sitting next to him on the floor, his eyes closed, and sipping on his double-digits gin and tonic through a straw. He looked the way Louis felt, like a complete and utter mess.

After some contemplation, he added: ‘Or said too much?’

Louis considered it for a minute. ‘Harry never corrected me when,’ he shuddered, not able to relive that scene again, ‘you know.’

‘You screamed at him, Louis. I don't...' Zayn shook his head slowly, as if there was a fly nagging him and he was trying to get it off. 'You don’t know how you look when you scream.’

‘Don’t blame this on me, Zayn.’

Zayn looked at him for a long time before he dragged his body to where Louis was nestled on the bed, arms locked around his knees. ‘I don’t. But don’t go blaming this only on him either.’

‘I’m trying.’

Louis understood immediately what Zayn was referring to. To anyone, Louis admitting he was not letting this fall completely on Harry's shoulders was more, well, more human than he had acted in a long time. Louis never thought of it as ‘human’. Zayn knew that, to him, ‘flawed’ would be the term he linked to letting your guard down. Yet now it didn’t feel like it was wrong, or flawed, or misplaced to state that yeah, Harry fucked up.irrevocably and inexcusably fucked up. But so had he. By never saying anything. As much as the silence from Harry’s side was to blamehere, Louis had equally been mute all the way, too.

And then they danced. As they formed a theory that sometimes you need to dance it out, spend the hours thinking only of how to move your body, letting your thoughts stop spinning. Zayn kissed him whenever he started talking, first lightly, and then putting more pressure into it, guiding his tongue into Louis’ mouth.

Louis let him, every time, even though it felt strange, having Zayn’s mouth on his. Eventually, he shut up and the kissing stopped, and Zayn smiled at him knowingly.

He looks over to where Zayn is now, snoring quietly next to him, and he says a quiet thank you to whoever it was that sent him into Louis’ life.

Extracting himself from the mess of sheets and Zayn’s limbs, he goes over to open the door, thanking the young man delivering him coffee. He turns on his phone, and then his Mac, and takes a painkiller with a full bottle of water.

There’s no new messages, only a bunch of emails. Louis inhales slowly, waiting for the air to fill his lungs just as if he was running, and exhales just as patiently, the sound echoing in the room. He dials Harry’s number, settling back on the bed. It rings so long Louis stops counting, and then it goes to voicemail.

Not surprised by it, Louis goes to Plan B, picking up Zayn’s phone and calling Liam. He answers right away.

‘We’re at the airport, so talk fast,’ Liam’s tone comes off cold, almost icy.

‘Don’t hang up, I need to talk to him. ’ He says it matter-of-factly, like it’s another thing on his to do list. His heart is thumping and he’s breathless from the words he had to drag out, and he would rather do anything else than this. ‘I promise it’s going to be quick, I just need him to know something.’

Liam is silent on the other end, and Louis feels like he’s fighting a losing battle.

‘Liam, please,’ he mutters, and it comes off with a hint of defeat. It’s Liam, and even though he has known the man for too short a time for it to mean anything, it’s Liam and he cares, so he lets himself sound the way he feels.

Liam exhales loudly, and then there’s nothing but noise in his ear before finally Harry picks up.

‘Louis.’

Why did he think this would be easier over the phone? Harry's tone is pointed and the pang of hurt flashes right across Louis' chest. It's as if he hasn't eaten in days, the hurt evident and pressing up his whole core. He turns weak in a second, never expecting Harry to say his name like that. So distant.

Last night's drunken episode made him realise he always knew he’d been about to hurt Harry.

'There are far more important things in life, Louis Tomlinson, than what's written on the pages of a magazine.'

He knew. Harry was love. Love in a human form: from how he interacted with strangers and how he picked out clothes to how he stroked Louis' cheek when they laid in bed.

And it's not the ‘I love you’ love, the universe exploding and cliches of fireworks and destiny, but the love that's woven deep into the soul and pours out whenever Harry does anything, even the simplest of things.

Louis doesn't see life as love. He’s not interested in iconic fights for love and sacrifices you make for other people. He never has been. While his friends were daydreaming about finding a perfect date, he was saving up and working extra jobs, planning his future. It's always been about the tangible, making his goals his successes and transforming good into better.

He has met so many people in his life and they are always one of two types: those like him and Zayn, chasing the gold; and the others who kept looking for their silver lining. He never understood the latter, always standing back and observing, but he could never fully grasp what it was that kept them going.

Harry was love, and he was on a lookout for his silver lining. But there was also gold in his eyes and his future, and somehow Louis understood, without Harry saying anything, that he’d grasped more than Louis had in his thirty years on this planet.

Louis couldn’t change the kind of person he was, always pushing for gold. And that's why he knew there was an expiration date to it all, and that eventually he would hurt Harry.

He realised he’d expected it to end with something silly, with his work-obsessed brain being too much for Harry to handle. Or some other bullshit like that.

What he never imagined happening was Harry being indifferent. Stoic and cold.

Louis shakes his head and straightens his back where he is sitting, cutting through the silence.

‘I am about to call Townsend. I will not make a recommendation. As much as it would be favouritism to recommend you for the job, as much as I can’t do that, Harry, because it would be fucking wrong and I’ve been taught to act better than that, I also cannot recommend someone else just because I can’t say your name. Do you see what kind of impossible position you’ve put me in? And it’s not just me, I hope you know that. I hope you can understand at some point this is not how you do things, ever. You need to learn to play the game, otherwise they will eat you alive.’

He takes a breath. There’s still one thing Harry doesn’t know. The other end of the line stays silent apart from the buzz of the airport in the background.

‘You are his first choice. And I’m not making a recommendation, Harry. Do you understand me?’

The silence almost starts eating him out, stretching long and wide. Harry’s voice cracks on the first word. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, Louis.’

‘Me too.’

Harry hangs up.

With a sigh, he places Zayn’s phone back where he found it. After all the crying of the previous night, he feels strangely calm, although very empty, like life’s been sucked out of him. His usual ‘go,go,go’ mindset is nowhere in sight and he’s lost, mostly as to what he’s supposed to be doing. He wonders if maybe that’s the body’s natural way of getting him to think about everything, but he can’t dwell on what’s done. Louis’ brain is programmed to see the future, not to go digging around the past.

There’s twenty minutes left on the clock so he just starts typing. Draft an email? That he can do. He is able to write something that’s completely bonkers and will possibly land him in a pile of shit. Of course he can. He didn’t end up where he is braiding people’s hair and having tea parties.

He makes it short and to the point, sticking to his usual email etiquette. The only sentence that holds any weight anyway stands out as if he put it in bold capital letters. After thorough consideration, I will not be making a recommendation, as I deem all three candidates equally worthy of the position. I will fully support the official decision and will work closely with the newly appointed editor-in-chief.

Things like this happen every day, he tells himself. It’s not the first time someone declined to do something.

‘Well this is just… you’re a mastermind, Louis.’

In his overall brooding and frustration, he hasn’t even noticed Zayn waking up.

‘It’s shit.’ Louis presses send and slumps back into the pillows, not ready for anything of this to be real yet.

‘No, it’s brilliant, and you know it. I don’t think...’ Zayn looks at him, thoughtful. ‘What do you think he’ll do?’

‘I called him before writing this. Told him everything. That he’s the favourite. He’s got all the information now. Whatever he does, it’s in his hands.’

Zayn shifts closer, so they’re side to side, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. It only gets Louis to talk more.

‘However I spin it, it’s ending badly for someone.’

‘I think it already did, babe. I think it’s already over.’

Louis closes his eyes and lets the feeling of nothingness take over.

\-----------

‘Why do you want to work for me?’ Louis rubs his eyes, exhausted, and looks back to the paper in front of him, ‘Ashley.’ She’s got sandy blond long hair, and she’s in a full runway look.

She speaks French. They all do. She also spends her summers in the Hamptons, grew up on the Upper West or East Side, Louis couldn’t care less which one, and went to one of the Ivy Leagues.

Ashley’s got a dull shine to her eyes and Louis’ mind goes somewhere else when she talks. She’s the twelfth one today, and he crosses her off the list.

‘I would love an opportunity to work for the best,’ she chirps, and Zayn coughs in the corner. Louis knows he’s hiding a laugh.

Why did he let Zayn sit in on this?

So far they've heard what seems to be the same answer to every question he’s asked. Is there a ‘how to do an interview for Vogue's editor-in-chief assistant job’ book that he doesn't know about?

Sabine’s sitting next to Zayn, but at least she doesn’t look bored out of her mind, scribbling something in her notebook with a serious look. It’s her last day working for Louis, and she seems relaxed.

She was smart enough to pre-interview not ten but three times that many candidates, knowing Louis too well.

Louis thanks Ashley with a nod and waves her off, calling for a smoke break.

‘When I come back, can the next ones be,’ he looks at Sabine with pleading eyes, ‘I don’t know, alive? Feisty? Where’s the sass in New York? Find me one.’

With an exasperated sigh, he picks up yet another pack of Marlboros and heads for the elevator, Zayn's wooden heels thumping loudly on the marble floor as he follows him.

Louis has already ripped his sweater, endured a full morning of editorial meetings for the editions in January and February, and he’s tackled interviews with twelve completely incompatible women for the assistant job.

He turns to Zayn as soon as they leave the elevator. He seems taller than usual, wrapped in Acne’s scarf with Women Power print in big letters, and he’s wearing Alexander Wang’s lime-colored parka and matching black trousers. There’s leaves printed all over his body.

_(Zayn's look:[full look ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/7b48449e79a3e573ebe814114cc59fdd/tumblr_nuywgqpWa11tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [scarf)](https://40.media.tumblr.com/55b95699eb6beeba5d5d566cbbfa59af/tumblr_nuywgqpWa11tawb72o1_540.jpg)_

He punches him lightly in the shoulder when he notices Louis’ mocking look.

‘Don’t even start. I am fucking bundled up only because you keep the AC going all day. It’s like I am a polar bear.’

Louis cackles.

‘Well not a bear. At least they have fur.’

‘Don’t think there won’t be fur. We’ve seen the collections together, you know there will be fur. Black, nude, white, blue. You just wait.’ Zayn’s eyes sparkle at the mention.

They light up in front of the building, too lazy to bother walking all the way to the patch of grass in the nearby street. Zayn looks at him with quiet concern in his eyes, but doesn’t nag.

He can only imagine how he looks like to Zayn, the man who’s seen him at nothing but his best for so long. Louis can’t remember the last time he wasn’t excited to pick his outfit in the morning. He can’t recall a day going to the office seemed like torture. Guess there is an expiration date to everything.

His eyes hurt so bad this morning he had to go for glasses, and his Dior suit hugs him nicely, his legs looking toned and torso slim, but he knows it’s below his usual standard, the plain blue color something that he’d never be satisfied with on a normal day. It’s not even the suit, the Dior cut and execution perfect, but the fact he’s usually more brave and pushes himself to find new ways to dress. He never really opts for just a suit, not wanting to look like a thousand and one Upper East Side lawyers his eyes meet every day.

(Louis' look: [suit ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f660fe4ff947b2d47161c8d0ce491f29/tumblr_nuywjgLera1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [sunglasses](https://41.media.tumblr.com/2b0c116b288c36143d23cc665c4a4874/tumblr_nuv3pk69EO1tawb72o1_500.jpg))

‘I’m not saying anything,’ Zayn mouths around the cigarette, smoke rising from around his lips.

‘I’m not feeling anything,’ he answers. It’s the closest to the truth he can muster.

He really isn’t.

‘I can see that.’

Another cigarette, and Zayn slaps him on the ass before they climb back to their sky-high glass-adorned cage, not at all ready to face another set of blonde, skinny and highly incompetent candidates.

It doesn’t get better at all, Louis having a hard time keeping a straight face during the interviews and Zayn not able to compose himself, but laughing at almost every chance he gets. In the end, somewhere long after they’ve passed the number twenty, he swears he will just pick the next girl that comes in. All or nothing, take some risks and all that.

He turns to Sabine and tells her to bring the strongest choice she’s got left, and and when she does he’s met with big round eyes, the shade of green almost identical to the one he’s been looking at way too much in the last month.

She rattles of the standard responses to every question except the last one.

‘And why do you want to work for me?’

She looks at him kindly, fixing her eyes on his and nodding slightly.

‘I don’t, actually. I don’t want to be an assistant, I want to be the boss. But it’s a long way up, and this is the best route. Hardest, but best.’

Louis stops examining the Women’s Wear Daily in front of him and smiles. His answer to the first assistant job he had when he was twenty, or twenty one, has been very similar.

‘You’re starting Monday.’ His eyes fly to hers and he keeps them there, soaking up the green. It feels strangely as if he is looking at something that inexplicably feels like home. ‘Keep the sass at bay, you’re working for me now. No nine to five, no talking back. If you keep me happy for the next two weeks, the job is yours, but any major screw up and you’re out.’

He waves her off after that, Sabine letting out a loud sigh of relief as she follows her. As soon as they leave the room, she starts barking out rules and instructions to the new girl, and Louis cackles to himself. The office, no matter how revolutionary the work they are doing, can sometimes be the most predictable place on the planet.

\----------

He feels sick that night. Whatever he eats feels like torture, and the wine he is sipping brings a wave of nausea, his heart racing and sweat forming across his forehead.

The tiniest things feel impossible and it’s as if he’s navigating a road full of twists and turns when he’s just going through the mock up, scribbling instructions as to what needs to be fixed.

He stops after every few minutes of work, taking a long breath and keeping his eyes straight, waiting for the tide to pass.

He has more than an hour of work left, and he gets more irritated with every long inhale he has to take to steady himself. Louis doesn’t postpone things, or do them the next day. He hasn’t since he was seventeen and decided working towards your goal is the only thing that will get you places.

He thinks about calling Zayn and just rattling off his symptoms in the hope that would resolve the problem. It’s not long before he opts out, aware it would only get Zayn to stop by and keep him company, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to be met with another concerning look from his best friend.

His mind drifts off, and he imagines what would happen if he were to call Harry. He doesn’t know if the man is awake, or if he is working. Would he even pick up after all that’s happened?

The thing is, Louis knows he would never pick that phone up. There’s no point, bothering Harry and dragging this out further when it has no future. Zayn was right, it kind of ended badly already.

Still, he leans back in his most comfortable chair in the corner of his sitting room and lets his eyelids close. The scenes are on rerun, soul-destroying and with a sour taste on his tongue. The first time they kissed, the smell of the heated asphalt of New York streets permanently burned in his brain, and the taste of Harry’s lips sweet. Harry has the softest lips he’s ever felt.

That afternoon when he kissed Harry feels so long ago it’s horrifying, and his heart thumps loudly in his chest as he scrambles to try and remember the details. The shirt Harry wore and the way his chest expanded when their lips met.

The room around him is spinning when he opens his eyes, and he heaves a bloodcurdling sigh of panic before getting up and dragging himself to the nearest bathroom.

His whole lunch escapes his mouth as soon as he clings to the toilet, and he can feel his eyes trickling with tears as soon as he’s done with vomiting.

He feels out of control, betrayed by his own body, and he’s not sure why, or why now. He can’t do much to pull himself together, and he can’t find the reason as to why he should, so he gives up not long after, collapsing on the floor and letting the tears stream down his face in a never-ending flow. The cold marble is a welcome sense of relief on his cheeks and down his side.

Harry’s hungry eyes locked with his as he thrusts into him, the New York City skyline above them.

Snap.

The five of them drinking their weight in alcohol the first fashion week together.

Snap.

Harry’s arms wrapped around him.

Snap.

The way he felt the evening they just drove around the city, sharing life stories.

Snap.

He imagines what Harry would tell him now, if he saw him curled up on his bathroom floor. If he would care, or if he wouldn’t even flinch. He imagines a happy picture, Harrypicking him up and carrying him to bed, curling around him and whispering sweet nothings until Louis’ eyes close and his blood stops boiling with uncertainty and questions that can’t be answered. He visualizes a world where his dream isn’t to run the world but to just be happy, be ordinary.

Louis doesn’t sleep much that night, or the night after, and when he finally does it’s only to dreams that are so happy he feels broken when he wakes up. Feeling rested is nothing more than a wish.

\---------

The news of the new Vanity Fair editor-in-chief comes in the email Conde Nast sends to all the firm’s executives. Louis is so caught up in his own misery by then, it takes him by surprise, and he doesn’t open it for a long time. Not until his new assistant comes into the office to remind him his meeting is starting in five, and he realizes it’s now or never.

He skips the opening paragraph and skims through the text to find the only thing that really interests him. When he finally finds it, he doesn’t recognize the name.

It’s someone originally not on the list, a newbie, or a recommendation from Europe or someone completely from the outside getting a chance to prove themselves. Most of all, it’s not Harry.

His mind goes blank for a moment, and he remembers to breathe only when it starts to hurt in his upper chest.

Instead of relief, he feels nothing but deep sorrow, for the missed opportunity, and for everything it could have brought to Harry. He feels sorry in a way that’s unfathomable, because he did nothing wrong, and he knows that, is sure of it. Yet somehow it’s exactly the nagging feeling of ‘what if’ that’s pressing up on him. He feels sorry all the way to his core and somehow, when he’s walking to the editorial meeting, he wonders if that’s what sacrificing your needs for someone else should feel like, and if this constant pressure in his throat and ache in his bones is actually what he gets for putting himself first, once again.

His work doesn’t suffer, somehow. If anything, there’s a new-found glory he ascribes to having structure and knowing what’s to come. The life he is living is detailed to the minute, and he finds himself looking forward to having to work and to accomplish. He writes an editorial for December, something he hasn’t done in years, because he’s never found the time.

It’s one of those slow afternoons in the office, and they’ve just wrapped up the upcoming issue. There is nothing to tackle for the remainder of the day but it’s only a little past two, and it’s also a Friday, the day he’s come to resent the most since he came back to New York.

Weekends mean a break, and free time, with only an occasional dinner party or a brunch to attend. The last three he spent moping around, with vodka kicking in very early, just as it got too much. He hasn’t invited anyone over or felt like seeing even his oldest, non-fashion friends, the ones who don’t know any gossip and have no idea who Harry Styles is. He declined every opportunity, skipping even the birthday of one of his closest friends, excusing himself with too much work.

He tells himself he needs the rest, given sleep is something of a rarity now, the two or three-hour intervals not enough. It sounds empty when he rattles it off, the silent question  ‘what are you tired from?’ ringing in his head.

So when the rest of the office packs up, ready to head home after a regular visit to one of the many Manhattan bars for drinks after work, he takes a paper with the official Conde Nast emblem out of his drawer and drafts up a long piece about the influence the pop culture has on fashion.

It takes him hours, with his mood oscillating and social networks always ready to entertain his drifting mind. He stops by Harry’s array of profiles, first heading for Instagram and Facebook, then stopping by the more intrusive ones, Twitter and lastly, his latest discovery - Tumblr.

It’s filled with black and white photos, and Harry often writes himself, a line or two here and there, but there’s also full paragraphs of nothing but raw sentiment that reminds Louis of the Romantics. It’s so full of Harry’s own self it hurts Louis to look at it, but he can’t stop scrolling, his eyes meet with Andy Warhol’s loud colors and Diane Vreeland quotes that blend in with moving images of Beyonce and photos of far places. Harry’s tag for the blue-colored sea and the pure-white snow is the same, ‘places to visit’, and Louis lets himself go there in his mind, visualises them together visiting the distant beaches and remote islands, skiing in the Alps, having a life together.

Harry posts a lot, and Louis checks the statistics of the page, his inner business side never not keeping track of things, to discover his personal profile is often linked to the GQ page and vice versa, criss-crossed with his other social media accounts but also with Niall’s and his famous British friends’ too, bringing it unique traffic of more than a million a month.

Fuck, Harry is so good with everything, and Louis isn’t even surprised at this point, given how in tune with the pace of the modern world he is. Louis knows he will do wonders. If there is anything he is sure of, it’s that the world is Harry’s Styles’ playground.

Just as he gets caught up with thinking about what if’s again, and yeah, it happens right on schedule, him having not felt miserable for the last half an hour which is a record right there, he stops to read a poem in the midst of the flow of photos from the Paris fashion week.

**_597\. When we two parted_ **

**_George Gordon Byron_ **

_When we two parted_

_In silence and tears,_

_Half broken-hearted_

_To sever for years,_

_Pale grew thy cheek and cold,_

_Colder thy kiss;_

_Truly that hour foretold_

_Sorrow to this._

 

_The dew of the morning_

_Sunk chill on my brow-_

_It  felt like the warning_

_Of what I feel now._

_Thy vows are all broken,_

_And light is thy fame:_

_I hear thy name spoken,_

_And share in its shame._

 

_They name thee before me,_

_A knell to mine ear;_

_A shudder come o'er me-_

_Why wert thou so dear?_

_They know not I knew thee,_

_Who knew thee too well:_

_Long, long shall I rue thee,_

_Too deeply to tell._

 

_In secret we met -_

_In silence I grieve,_

_That thy heart could forget,_

_Thy spirit deceive._

_If I should meet thee_

_After long years,_

_How should I greet thee?_

_With silence and tears._

 

 

It was posted the day after the Paris Fashion Week ended. Louis swallows a lump that’s formed in his throat, reading it twice more before closing the lid to his Mac as if he burned himself reading and letting his head fall in his hands, the quiet sobs escaping him once he realizes he can’t hold it anymore.

The office is empty, and he curls up in his chair, tears streaming down his face in a slow manner, the droplets soon soaking up the collar of his sweater.

Fuck it all.

\-------

That weekend he gets up shaking, and it takes him half an hour to compose himself enough to leave the bed, his body in tremors for reasons he’s unsure of.

He’s sad and lost, and his life doesn’t really hold meaning the way it did before. Regular days are just something he has to do, and the future a ‘fuck, who knows’ uncertainty that is so defeating he’s stopped trying to untangle himself from the waves of sadness when they hit him.

And yeah, that’s all fine, he can do sad. He can do hopeless. He will work and fight and put one foot in front of the other until the same sadness starts coming less and less and it’s nothing but a dull ache in the background.

But this whole thing where his body isn’t his anymore and he doesn’t know how to stop it or fight it, can’t find a solution or a term for it, fuck that.

Who is shaking upon waking up so much they can’t stand up straight? Who the fuck does that? And why is it happening to him?

He is angry by the time he drinks the first bottle of water, straight from the fridge, and he’s even angrier by the time he gets his breakfast delivered. He eats the whole thing even though he finds no pleasure in the taste, and he sips on his coffee for as long as his mind is spinning, trying to grasp a thought from the whirlwind that is his brain and stick to it. He needs a plan, just like he has an agenda for Vogue, he needs a plan for himself.

A Louis Tomlinson plan. And he’s going to follow the plan. The plan will work. Because he is Louis, and plans Louis makes work. They just do.

Right?

His body is lacking form, and he is definitely in a desperate need of a good night’s sleep. He’s also utterly fucked, but he makes hard work of stirring the discussion that’s happening in his head in a completely different direction. He needs a goal, actually not just one but a few. And he needs to start working towards them now. No more fucking shaking, or forgetting to breathe. He needs control.

The first idea comes to him pretty easily, considering he’s already been toying with the idea ever since he saw Harry’s page, which brings him to another point easily. That leaves him with the third one to figure out, and after a while, he picks out the most atrocious thing he could do, knowing it will drive him mad, but deciding on it anyway.

_Louis Tomlinson, The Life Plan_

_To Achieve_

  1. _Open up a Tumblr account, run it, get a good following by the end of the year (to be discussed) and a unique traffic of one million a month_

  2. _Self-imposed ban on the Harry Styles virtual existence and social media profiles_

  3. _Run a marathon_




He reads it over until he is absolutely sure it’s what he wants, and then downs another bottle of water as he opens up materials on running he has stored in his laptop ever since he was in his early twenties and decided that one day he would make himself run the feared twenty-six point two miles.

Drafting up a marathon schedule training plan has him occupied by midday and once he’s done it’s either taking up actual running or another round of drowning his misery in alcohol, so he sets off to Central Park after consulting his now fully written four-month plan and does the obligatory six miles. His normal runs usually last more and he paces himself much faster, but he finds it hard to push even through this, not so much because of his legs aching but his heart hurting.

It’s almost as if he is looking upon himself from above and someone else is currently living the life that is supposed to be his. He’s merely a spectator. And he’s scared shitless.

It hits him more than he’s willing to admit, the fact he’s stuck in a limbo, and he possesses no actual reasoning as to how to get out of it. The lump rises in his throat at every mile, and it’s nothing but stubbornness that gets him to cross that imaginary finish line, his ears ringing with the app congratulating him on making it.

He mutters a quiet thank you to it and a slightly louder fuck you to the world. He realizes how ridiculous he is, and how ridiculous it all is, him running in real-life circles not just around the park’s lake but also in general, chasing an idea of happiness when he’s got no idea what happiness even is to him.

Is it Vogue? Or fashion? The industry? Is it his friends? His family? Is it random one night stands? Finding someone to replace Harry?

What the fuck even is Harry?

Louis kicks a pile of tiny irregular-shaped stones that he finds on the way, getting dirt all over his Nikes and ruining his own anger management class in the process.

Seriously, what is Harry? An idea? A project of his imagination? Just a fuck with an expiration date?

There’s a tiny voice somewhere in the back of his head and he doesn’t let it surpass his subconscious, but instead grips his hands tight until his knuckles are white from the strain.

Is Harry his idea of the future?

Rain starts as he heads back to his apartment, and he can’t be bothered to be annoyed. The downpour is a perfect addition to the day that holds no meaning to him, just like the day before, and he knows it already, the one coming up.

\--------

The anger, and the sadness, and the irrational outbursts, it all fades. It blends into the background and it’s irrelevant way too soon. He feels grey.

He lets the gravity of the situation hit him one morning when he gets up, his hands shaking again and his vision a blur. He curses himself, and the tremble that overcomes him, and the fact it’s five am. He lets out a loud stream of curses, his voice hoarse and his eyes filled with tears.

It’s not just grey. It’s hopeless too.

He stomach lurches, just like it does every morning, and he’s stumbling to his bathroom on shaky legs, in search of cold stream of water to put his arms under, the temperature helping him calm down.

Yesterday he broke his iPhone when the rage took over for a second, his mind nothing but a river of irrationalness. Today he breaks a glass in the bathroom, and it feels good for a second, the clear texture breaking into a million pieces, shattering everywhere, making a mess. It feels good to be in control of that glass breaking, but it only lasts a second, and then it’s quiet again, and he feels like breaking himself.

His eyes fall back to the bed and he wants to burn it so bad. First the sheets and then the mattress and then the frame, one by one. He wants it gone, just like the memories that are linked to it. He wants it all forgotten, and to go back to square one.

He wants his life back.

‘Fucking hell,’ he says when the silence becomes deafening, a habit he’s picked up, ‘I don’t care what this is, just stop. Please, whoever it is pulling these strings above me, just fucking stop.’

And then he’s crying again, another new habit, his face a shameless shade of red, eyes puffy.

He ticks off the things he has to do to get himself in a state of newfound normalcy, first getting himself to stop shaking, water freezing his inner arms and fingers. He brushes his teeth next, his face in the mirror a crystal clear reminder of just how much it all went to hell, and then his palms are pressed to his eyes, mouth letting out exhales as he gets his lungs to work in regular patterns and the overall feeling of panic slowly backing down.

It’s a slow process, but it works, and he holds on to it. It took him days to figure out the steps, the method a series of trials and errors.

When he’s dressed for the run and is just about to get out of the door, the wave hits him again and he wants to cry, sink to the floor in the hallway and never get up.

‘Get out, Louis,’ he says, but doesn’t move, his legs stuck to the marble in the foyer. ‘Get the fuck out, you have to do it. Do it for you, Louis. Just do it.’

There’s Harry’s voice echoing in his ears, his laugh and silly words that hold no meaning mixing together. He lets out a quiet sob, wrapping his arms around himself.

In that moment he is tiny in the grand space, his body as small as it can be and his great, beautiful spirit defeated. It helps, however, when he squeezes his sides, and mutters a few more words to himself, swallowing a couple of tears down.

He makes it out the door after almost an hour of delay, but he does, and he counts it as the first victory of the day.

The whole way he runs the sun shines and the world is overall a joy to look at, but if he’s honest it means nothing to him. There’s a war going on inside his mind, and he doesn’t even know what side he’s on. He just keeps running in hopes it will be okay. These days his mood flickers without anyone flipping him on and off, and he wonders each day which Louis Tomlinson he will encounter that day.

It’s only him that’s met with dark Louis and moody Louis, he’s the only one that gets to see the shaky Louis in the morning and the broken one in the evenings. He’s the first and the last person who knows the never-ending stream of questions that have no answers going through his mind each day, and he makes it his mission that it stays that way.

To the world, he’s the same driven, powerful individual. To himself, he’s just an ‘I don’t know’.

\------

That day in the office the coffee supply is turned up to the maximum, the new girl spending more time running to Starbucks than at her desk. She’s soon bleeding into her stilettos, the blisters too much to handle, and he almost fires her for it, irritated with how she can’t keep up with such a miniscule thing when his life is  quite literally crumbling down.

Zayn takes it upon himself to make a nest in Louis’ office, because he reads Louis like nobody else, and even though he’s got a brilliant facade going on, Zayn can pick him apart in seconds.

Instead of regular greetings, he’s now updating Louis on how Louis is feeling on a daily basis. Today it was a ‘It’s getting worse,’ with a delayed ‘I’m worried about you’, and Louis shrugs it off, a standard procedure. Zayn doesn’t push him, instead sitting back in the chair he claims as his in the back of Louis’ office and opening up his laptop, singing along to Florence quietly.

By now all days look the same to Louis, and he’s mostly being able to tell them apart solely by Zayn’s hideous presence. After Dolce & Gabbana have shown the winter collection, Zayn insisted on ordering all of the sweaters from it. He wears them for a whole week, coming to the office day after day dressed solely in one disgusting sweater after another, yelling things like ‘I’m the queen’ when wearing a sweater with a big gold crown on it or ‘I’m a painting in a painting’ the day after when he’s dressed in red velvet with a small painting print in the middle.

_(Zayn's look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d7ab99c1d735746e635764fe495a956c/tumblr_nuywutsGRK1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4f103a02463c00a9b7a37e237e9ca55e/tumblr_nuywutsGRK1tawb72o2_500.jpg)/ [sweater](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bdd13a2f7313ce75397f206de825f449/tumblr_nuywutsGRK1tawb72o3_500.jpg)) _

Louis laughs every time, the sweaters truly traumatizing and Zayn clearly too proud of himself to see it, and by the end of the week his mind asks itself a silent question about what would happen if there were no Zayn in his life? He shuts it down immediately before he crumbles in the middle of his office, in the middle of Manhattan, on top of the world.

Funny how that same mountain top feels like the third circle of Dante’s Inferno to him, the one that hosts gluttony and icy cold rain.

He hangs up on his thoughts, and shuts down the questions, and paints the mask back on, setting back to work.

At least his Tumblr’s working splendidly.

It’s a clear win when it comes to his life plan, and there is a sense of achievement he feels that creeps up in between the cracks of sadness that fill him up. It’s day who-even-knows-by-now since he’s seen Harry’s face, the social media ban already running for at least a month.

There is recent structure in a way he follows the agenda at work and his own plan when he’s out of the office. With every new run he’s closer to the marathon and with every day his Tumblr seems to take off more. He posts regularly, not so much insider stuff, keeping that for Instagram, but more of a mish mash of everything that inspires him, the excerpts from the old Vogue issues and vintage photographs, poetry and sometimes even celebrities. It was taken well by the public, called a revolutionary approach by Times even, and he takes great pride and puts a lot of work into making it not just his Tumblr page, but a way to get people to visit Vogue’s website and buy Vogue, to bring profit using new ways.

And even though it’s splendid, the way he breathes normally every afternoon while he ticks off the tasks for the day, mornings and evenings are still agenda-free except for the waking up and getting ready to go to sleep, and the vast space completely overtakes him. While during the day he does a step forward, in the evening it’s still two steps back.

Townsend calls him for a lunch not much later and he descends to the fifteenth floor to eat with the employees, a tradition his boss likes to keep up to show everyone a sense of community.

Louis finds it laughable, never feeling a stronger sense of hierarchy and less of an open space in any other work place than here, but he straightens his charcoal cashmere sweater and tucks the front into his suede black trousers that cling to his thighs like second skin.

_(Louis' look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/320bbb517ba6030a22b70c26c850b56b/tumblr_nqui3tHofg1qdsqp6o1_540.jpg))_

He’s on autopilot, and delivers a new idea for Vogue.com to his boss, a rather obvious apology for the recent fuck up consisting of him not giving a recommendation for the Vanity Fair editor-in-chief. As suspected, Townsend buys it up as soon as Louis starts running through the projected figures, and he can see dollar signs in his boss’ eyes, a clear sign he’s winning.

If his work was the only thing to go by, he would be winning it all.

He’s stopped counting the days since fashion week and the last time he saw Harry’s pretty face. He can’t remember his smell or the way his curls felt under his fingertips, and the words they exchanged have already faded to oblivion. He’s embarrassed by it, but it’s not like he holds any shred of control over anything anymore, really.

Zayn’s concerned look and the crown print sweater greet him when he gets back, and his face falls when he sees his friend’s silent questions printed over his eyelids.

‘Tell me this isn’t happening,’ it’s barely a whisper, but it’s there. He cracks under the pressure, his blood boiling with fear and distaste for everything, for life as it is. ‘Please, Zayn, tell me it’s not real.’

His best friend is quiet for a second, waiting for Louis to settle in his chair. He leans forward, so he is slouched over the desk dividing them, and he raises his voice only so that Louis can hear him perfectly, without it spilling outside their little bubble.

‘Everything you can imagine is real. Therefore, everything you cannot imagine isn’t real. It’s up to you, Louis, to decide. Does this feel real to you?’

He doesn’t settle back in his chair, waiting for Louis to figure it out.

‘No,’ Louis is equally quiet when he responds, and his voice is unsure. But it can’t. ‘No, it -’ he swallows a lump and his eyes glue to the desk so he doesn’t start crying, ‘it doesn’t feel real.’

‘Then it can’t be real, can it?’ Zayn takes Louis’ hand in his and squeezes hard, all the way to the bone.

‘Okay.’

Louis nods, once, and it’s a quiet agreement right there between them, to start again. Build up from this, find a common ground in the simple statement. It’s not real.

‘Should I sleep over tonight?’ Zayn asks as an afterthought.

‘Please.’

They go back to work, each to their own, hours blending together and Louis almost forgets everything. It’s Zayn’s voice that calls him back from reading thoroughly through an article, and when he does look up, the eyes he meets are incredibly kind.

‘You’re holding up so well. I thought you should know that. I figured I should be the one to tell you that.’

‘I’m really not. It’s just my pride being stronger than my feelings. I’m playing a 24/7 game of pretend.’

‘Is there another way?’ It feels like there’s more trapped in Zayn’s throat as he speaks, but he stops after the question, waiting.

Louis bites his lip, and tucks his hands underneath himself, sitting on them, the slight tremor starting to build up as he opens up to the man before him. ‘What? Eating acid and swallowing pills? Going to church? Filming myself having sex with strangers? What could be more toxic than this? What could work better?’

Zayn continues to stare at him, disbelief and sorrow quietly rushing over his face. Instead of sticking around to watch it unfold, the pure emotion so vivid on Zayn’s face, Louis gets up and heads for the bathroom.

That afternoon, the sushi he eats is too bland and his coffee is too strong, and his stomach acts up. He finds God in between the tiny cracks of a wall when he pukes his limbs out.

Zayn is holding up his white Dior coat with black fastening when he comes back to the office, and he ushers him home, giving Louis just enough time to pick up his papers.

_(Louis' look:[coat](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f4b02c2570fab3e69c522f305f0a65b9/tumblr_nuywzf2UFa1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

As soon as they leave the building Zayn asks him if he wants to get drunk or high, or anything really. And Louis wants to hit him for suggesting it, right in between the brows so he messes his pretty face right up. It’s not fair how Zayn gets to be perky and fine, how he gets to fuck everything that’s good looking and has a dick between his legs, and Louis gets to see himself crumble every single miserable day. He wants to hit Zayn, and he wants to hit Harry, but most of all he wants to hit the mirror when he sees his face there. In the end he just wants a universe where this isn’t happening, or Harry doesn’t exist. He wants the possibility of never meeting Harry and at the same time a chance to meet him for the first time a thousand times and again.

‘I’m so angry,’ he admits to the back of Zayn’s head in the car on the way to his apartment, ‘I’m so angry all the time.’

The tears spill over for what feels like the first time when in reality he’s already stopped counting, the number way too high. It’s just that it’s happening with someone next to him, and somehow it makes him sob harder, and his body is shot with feeling everything.

Yet he feels completely bland.

Zayn rubs his hands up and down against every surface of Louis’ body he can possibly reach, and then he starts crying too, out of sympathy and because deep down, Louis know this hurts Zayn too.

‘I’m so sorry for this,’ he lets out when Zayn’s shoulder gets completely wet and he snorts and then starts sniffing in a way that’s too tragic to be even remotely funny.

‘Fucking hell, Lou. I don’t know what’s happening in your brain,’ Zayn is properly crying now, too, and they look like a pair of lunatics together, clinging to each other in a desperate manner that makes Louis sick with just how pathetic they are. ‘I have no idea what’s happening, and I know I can’t help, but I’m here.’

That towncar has seen better days, really.

Louis tries to remember what day of the week it is, but he can’t. It barely registers as a low punch in the overall scheme of the Tomlinson breakdown.

Back in Louis’ apartment, they eat and they yell at Love Actually. Then they drink and yell some more, this time at passers by, hidden behind Louis’ balcony’s protective glass. It makes Louis laugh hard, and he counts it as the win of the day, high-fiving Zayn and congratulating him on the success.

‘You’ve done it. You’ve broken me. I’m hysterical now.’

It proves to be right later, when they’re preparing for bed after Louis finally signs the mock up for January and emails the articles with his notes to the authors for correction. It’s late, way too late if he wants to make his run the next morning, but as it happens lately, it doesn’t get to the part where it would actually bother him.

Instead he goes to the bathroom and showers, shaves and brushes his teeth slowly, the endings and the beginnings of the day proven to be the hardest for him. He’s focused on one single action after the other, and the sound of Zayn’s voice coming from his bedroom as he sings to himself.

He is proud of himself, all the way to the point when he reaches the bed and throws his legs under the covers, Zayn’s dopey smile distinct in his peripheral vision. He is about to lay down when a sudden, sharp wave of nothingness hits him, and it feels like someone struck him with an axe right in the middle of the head.

Louis goes to take a breath but he can’t, not properly, only a small passage clear in his throat and he gets dizzy all of a sudden.

He drops down on his back, but his body is so rigid he can’t move an inch, instead splayed comically on the sheets, his hands clinging to his knees and head bowed down.

Zayn’s voice is around him but it’s just noise, and he can’t recognise the words for the life of him.  

It feels like he is about to explode, and there is no air in his lungs, no actual oxygen to get him going, and his chest is constricting and expanding all at the same time. Still no air. He’s heaving, like a fish out of water, and he’s fighting and giving up.

He tries to get the words out, but nothing happens, only tears spilling from his eyes. His ears are ringing and his mouth is doing a weird wheezing sound. He can’t control anything.

‘Louis,’ it’s Zayn’s voice, and Zayn’s hand on his and Zayn’s face. He looks scared out of his mind, and Louis wants to tell him he’s fine, but he can’t.

Maybe it’s because he isn’t. Not really.

‘It’s okay, Louis,’ he says, looming over him. ‘You need to breathe.’

Louis shakes his head slowly, signalling that no, there is no way. His heart is so loud in his ear it’s going to pop out of his chest.

‘Yes you can, come on.’ Zayn is persistent, his tone urgent. ‘Just like how when you’re running. Count in your head and do it.’

He is going to faint.

There’s pressure on his hands and it’s Zayn squeezing him, hard. He is repeating the same sentence over and over again, and with each time it grows louder in Louis’ ears.

‘No, no, no, no,’ is all he manages to get out, and it has a bad effect, his throat closing up on him. He can’t swallow for the life of him. The tears that are escaping him are so fat they blur his vision and Zayn is just a splotch of colors before him. It hurts, it hurts so much.

He cries harder, humiliated over this, and uncertain over what is happening to him. He’s so ashamed and Zayn is looking at him differently, and he will faint, he can’t do this.

Survival mode kicks in, and he manages to get himself to tune out everything and focus on the clear brown of Zayn’s eyes. Slowly, and then all at once, he can see more, and he starts counting in his head.

One, two, three, four, five. And exhale.

His tears are salty when they fall on his tongue, and Zayn’s hold gets stronger with every breath he manages to get into his lungs properly.

Zayn is chanting a quiet ‘there you go’ on a loop, and when Louis starts crying again, not able to help himself he throws his hand around Louis’ chest and presses so hard Louis think he could throw up from how much everything hurts.

It’s grounding, though, and somehow when the panic builds up again and he can’t move a muscle, he leans back against Zayn and lets himself get past it, thinking of nothing and then one by one adding encouragements when he feels like he can, listening to Zayn saying he’s brave, and he can do it, and it’s going to be okay over and over again.

Much later, it’s over somehow, and he is done with the world, so exhausted he can’t think about what this is except how humiliated he is. The sorrow creeps up on him and rushes over him then, and he lets tears flow and land on his pillow as he curls up on his side, asking himself what happened to him so many times it’s that question that’s the last he remembers before darkness swallows him.

\-----

‘It lasted for two hours,’ Zayn tells him over breakfast, clad in nothing but boxer briefs. Louis looks up from The Times he’s been skimming through while eating his eggs and shrugs.

‘It’s never happened before.’

‘Bullshit, and you know it.’ It’s an angry stare he goes for next, and Louis feels so utterly ashamed. He wishes Zayn could just shut the fuck up.

‘It’s never happened before, not like this.’

He isn’t lying. Yesterday was a nightmare, from start to finish. It was also a first.

‘It was fucking scary, Louis. I was this close to shitting my pants. I was helpless!’ Zayn throws his hands in the air, and the scrambled eggs fly from his fork to the other end of the room.

‘And what do you think I felt? Huh?’

He finds Zayn’s foot under the table and nudges it with his, trying to keep his face straight.

His best friend softens at that, and leans over to place his elbows on the table, letting his head fall down to his hands. ‘I know. But I didn’t know what to do.’

‘I feel you.’

Zayn just keeps looking at him, his eyes mirroring the terror that’s nestled in Louis’ chest.

‘I can’t tell you it’s going to be okay, because I have no idea, really. I have never seen you like this. You were completely out of it. And I couldn’t bring you back for so long. And I’m scared out of my mind here, Louis.’

‘I know.’

He settles for a heavy sigh and gets up after Louis, following him to the closet and stealing his clothes. The sense of familiarity overwhelms Louis, and he doesn’t even protest this time, instead throwing a pair of socks Zayn’s way to where he’s currently picking between two of the same McQueen shirts, only in different colors.

Zayn comes up to him when he’s dressed and ready. He hugs Louis tight, and Louis knows he is trying to put everything he’s not able to tell him into that single embrace. Zayn doesn’t let go for a long moment, and Louis feels his heartbeat slow down to a regular pace.

It’s only when he drops his head to Zayn’s shoulder that the other man finally lets himself say what must have been running through his mind all this time.

‘I know you can’t right now, but I want you to tell me when we can talk about this. Real talk, no bullshit,’ his hands track the curve of Louis’ back, and his voice is soothing. ‘And we’ll talk about getting help, at some point. Because this thing, it won’t just go away, you know?’

Louis hums at that, and he thinks of it as a start.

‘You said so yourself, it’s getting worse. Building up. And I’m scared.’

He hugs Zayn with all he has, closing his eyes and inhaling his scent.

He swears to himself to try and make work what he can, and focuses on the task at hand, picking out the most outrageously beautiful outfit in his closet.

He opts for white trousers with a black bird print on the inseam and a timeless black Givenchy shirt. He picks a Berlutti charchoal cashmere coat and a beige scarf over it, and on his feet are McQueen creepers with a thick sole and a studded tip, paired with a classic Thom Browne over-the-shoulder bag in caviar leather.

(Louis' look: [shirt ](http://cache.mrporter.com/images/products/563797/563797_mrp_in_l.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/32eebe991a38ffe048a839e901a2624f/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o6_400.jpg)/ [coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/38889e231af46bd78d94b5fa7ac03726/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [scarf ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/810d8a19e6dc9739dd51d08777f419da/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o5_500.jpg)/ [bag ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/5c7d5817be589472ba673f34491443b4/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o4_500.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/5708ecde84cdd480ca9a55236499f2e9/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o1_540.jpg))

He can dress himself. He can work. And he can breathe.

He slings the bag over his shoulder and takes Zayn by the arm, ready to push through the day, if nothing else, then just in spite of everything.


	8. Various Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:  
> 1) Thank you so much to [Helenah](http://helenahjay.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this and saving my ass.  
> 2) You're the nicest readers ever. As we approach the end, I'd ask you to leave your feedback when you read this, whether it's for the whole story or an outfit or this chapter (either here or tumblr) - it means the world.  
> 3) If you're an artist or a manip maker and are reading this and love the story and have some free time, [can you get back at me?](http://otpwhatever.tumblr.com/ask/) Pretty please? I need some help with visual aids. 
> 
> ♥♥♥♥
> 
> P.S.  
> [Here's the playlist I listened to while writing.](https://play.spotify.com/user/lucche94/playlist/6ZoUcvX3w5pAYhS71JW6XE/)

Fixing his hair, he swings his legs out of the car and looks down to see if his outfit is still intact. There will soon be snow on the ground, and the cold crisp air in New York resembles the way polar winds form and swirl, chasing each other around his lungs.

He feels cold even though he’s wearing a thick cream sweater and wool trousers from a young designer Zayn’s been obsessed with, Ami Alexandre Matiussi. He tucked up the front of the sweater so it’s not as bulky, the green leather belt pulled through the belt loops around his waist. He’s wearing the storm-blue shearling bomber jacket unzipped, and he’s got Saint Laurent combat boots in black on his feet. Louis loves the luxurious feel of them as much as he loves the lace-up design.

_(Louis' look:[whole look ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/97ecdf864d49420573bd21ddfa20754e/tumblr_nvbuofWikY1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [jacket ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/3be1536018f3b344bff545777a89abe0/tumblr_nvbuofWikY1tawb72o2_500.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/66ca99276c466c3cb174befe6ed4ffa0/tumblr_nvbuofWikY1tawb72o3_500.jpg))_

His hair is still standing straight up despite the wind and his eyes are rimmed with tears from the cold, a recurring thing for the winter months.

He waits for Zayn and the rest of the fashion department’s crew to climb out of their perspective cars and leads them into the Gap headquarters. No matter how closely they work together, it’s a car-per-person arrangement always has been. The only person allowed to ride in his car is Zayn, but today they’re coming from different parts of the city, and he’s alone, the short ride unusually quiet.

There’s a question as to who the next designer will be to produce a collection for the Gap eco line, and Louis has been called in to provide his expert opinion.

Unfortunately it lasts hours, the details boring into Louis’ brain and he’s happy to do it, he really is, but he’s also really craving Brooklyn pancakes and coffee doesn’t seem to subdue his already permanent headache.

He’s in pain, real physical pain from the marathon training he’s putting himself through, and he almost twisted his ankle today when he pushed himself harder than he should have. So now he’s limping. Elegant.

It’s late November, and there’s not much left for him to do before he takes his deserved one-month vacation. Work features a lot of meetings, from budget plans to projection meetings and expansion proposals. It’s far less interesting than the rest of the year, and his only solace is Zayn, the biggest lover of Christmas Louis has ever known.

Of course, Zayn doesn’t look at Christmas in a sacred way, as the man isn’t Christian, but in the sense of togetherness and joy. He blasts every Christmas playlist he can find throughout the whole office, bringing smiles to even the sullkiest of faces.

The effect it has on Louis is doubled. Sometimes it’s humorous as he watches his best friend prance around the halls singing, decked out in different hues of red day after day, and sometimes it’s soul-crushing, making him think of everything that he’s missing. It would be so much simpler if he had any idea what that really is.

He’s still stuck in a limbo, and it’s not pleasant, the fact he cannot pinpoint what he’s lacking in his life. You can pursue what you can name. Otherwise, well, you’re spinning in circles.

He’s genuinely fucked.

The meeting ends so late he has to turn down several offers for drinks in one of the Manhattan bars, and he locks Zayn’s arm in a tight grip, longing for a heart-to-heart and strong liquor.

‘You know what I love about you? As soon as we exit the building, your eyes get dull, your face shows just how tired you are and I can see a sign across your forehead,’ Zayn is mocking him, eyes dancing all over Louis’ torso, and he takes his arm out of Louis’ hold to place his hands up in the air, making a square shape, ‘that says alcohol needed.’ Zayn smiles at him gently. ‘But as long as we’re in there, you’re you. The beast you; the mighty Louis Tomlinson.’

Louis smiles, exhausted.

‘I love my job,’ he says, dragging his feet on the pavement, his head heavy and legs even more so. ‘I love it just like you love it. You sit in those meetings even though it’s your least favorite thing and the only part you actually enjoy is when they bring out the sketches. The rest of the time it’s all business, and you still sit there.’

‘Millions would kill to be us,’ Zayn retorts.

He’s right. Absolutely right, and Louis is proud he’s one of a kind. There’s executives, and there’s editors, but there is only one American Vogue, the best there is. And there’s only one editor who holds that much power in his hands.

‘It’s the glamour of the eighty hour work week they all dream off.’

‘Or maybe it’s all the Chanel.’

Louis laughs, wide and untamed, the way he hasn’t in a while.

‘What would we do without Chanel?’ He mocks his friend, feigning horror.

There’s literally nothing that would change in regard to their personal lives if there were no Chanel. He doesn’t wear Chanel. They don’t even feature it in the magazine; not since the show started being one giant show just for the sake of show and not the actual collections. It’s all about the bags and the perfumes, the rest forgotten.

Zayn laughs with him, and it’s as if they’re twenty again, young and learning the ins and outs of the game. Fuck, he’s just about thirty and thinks of himself as old and experienced.

There’s a block left to walk and they trade memories. Recent ones that have them in fits of laughter over the most miniscule of things. It’s the sort of experience you can only have with people you’ve been through so much with, who know you so well there’s nothing left to hide or unravel even. They laugh, and they build on the old, today’s laughs a memory to share in a year or maybe twelve.

Just as they’re about to arrive at the bar of Louis’ choosing, or rather the same one he always stops by when he’s too lazy to be posh and he just really wants to eat greasy food and get hammered, Zayn mutters a quiet sentence that he doesn’t expect, not when they’re having so much fun.

‘He really didn’t see you all the way, you know?’ he nudges Louis’ foot with his as they cross over the busy street, an occasional onlooker pausing when they recognize their faces. Or at least, Louis’ face.

Louis makes a non-committal sound. Something that should translate to ‘back off’, and Zayn looks up at him from the pavement, eyebrows raised.

‘What, you don’t want to talk about it?’

Louis shrugs his shoulders, speeding up his step at the sound of his stomach growling. Why didn’t they think of a working lunch? He seems to be hungry all the time since he started marathon training. Maybe he can just leave his life and become a competitive eater. Former Vogue editor-in-chief and a new world hotdog eating champion. Well that would make a headline or two.

What’s up with his brain lately? Can he just shut if off? That would be convenient. No more panic, no more grey, no more dull aches. No more trains of thought where the first and the last word is always Harry.

How far has medicine come, seriously? Is there a way to shut it all off?

They’re almost there, but Zayn seems to have a different idea about where and when he will nag Louis so he stops in his tracks, yanking Louis’ arm, forcing him to look up.

‘Stop shrugging. You’re not a shrugger. You’re too tiny to be hunched over like that. I haven’t spent the last decade watching you walk proud, chin up and shoulders straight only for you to curl up in yourself the first time someone showed you something you hadn’t experienced before.’

‘What are you talking about?’

He wishes he could say to Zayn to mind his own business. But the man is kind of sleeping in his bed to keep him from losing it. So that’s not an option.

‘It’s true, Harry’s your first in so many ways. I know you don’t see it, because you’re stuck,’ Louis tries to speak up but Zayn just raises his hand. ‘It’s okay, it’s not an accusation. I’m not saying there is something wrong with you.’

Louis can only imagine how blank his stare is by now, the words echoing in the busy street around them, the night swallowing his misery.

‘You’re not broken, you don’t need to be fixed. I know you think that and hate yourself for it. But if you’re broken, then we’re all broken. I am stuck on sleeping with a different man three times a week, and you’re stuck on shaking because you can’t figure it out and you’re fucking scared. Well guess what, Louis, everyone is scared of something. I am scared that I’ll never stop with this, that I’ll never stop having the need to look for another body to fall into bed with me. You’re scared of what this means and what this is and how new it is. You’re scared because you can’t name it, I can see it in your fucking eyes.’

‘Please, Zayn, let’s just leave it,’ he starts, but then there’s a switch in him, and somehow, the words that leave Zayn hit right where that switch is, and he’s talking, everything he thought would never leave him laid bare in front of him.

‘Fuck, I know. Okay, I know. For everything and everyone, I have a name, a tag. Everything is something and everything has a purpose. For a dress I can say it’s lilac and Dior from spring 2012, and it’s a cocktail dress and should be worn with strappy five inch heels and a clutch, preferably the nude one from Proenza. What, why, where, when. I have all the answers to every question. For people, I have their name, their job, what they mean or don’t mean to me, how I can help them or ruin them, what their job is, if they fall into the category of superiors to me, or if they’re under me. You’re Zayn, you’re my best friend, my partner in crime for ten years. Without you Vogue wouldn’t work, you’re my equal even though my status quo says I’m your superior. You work in fashion, but you’re so much more. I can put you in the box that says my past, but I can also label you as my present and my future.’ He takes a deep breath, his eyes rimmed with tears. Relief is slowly filling up in his body as the words spill out of him, but he’s nowhere near done.

‘But for him, this Harry Styles person, I have nothing. Categorically speaking, he’s my past. But is he really? Because that short span of time, it shouldn’t mean shit, it should be just a tiny moment in the grand scheme of things.  I should be able to remember him and say, yeah he kept me company and was a great lay, and that should be it. But it’s not. If I look back I don’t fucking remember couture shows, I remember avoiding him because I didn’t want to sleep with him or get involved with him. For New York Fashion Week, instead of the greatest party we’ve hosted, I remember his rosy cheeks and pretty face and the way alcohol fucking ruined him that night so he could barely stand straight by the end of it. Where there should be a moment, or an event, or a milestone there’s only him. His face, and his body and the way he made me feel like I was free even though I never really felt chained before him. And now, when I’m here listening to everyone giving me a fucking standing ovation,’ he takes a step back, another breath and throws his hands in the air, gripping his hair, ‘the new fucking era of fashion and publishing and I’m the one leading it. There’s a shitload of things I’ve done and accomplished just this year, and I go to sleep shaking like a damn fucking poodle every night in my bed, cursing him from here til Sunday, wishing I’d never met him. And, and you know what’s the best thing, oh Zayn, you know what’s the fucking funniest?’ He’s bordering on hysterical now, kicking the tiny stones he sees in front of himself, his body almost spinning in circles.

‘He’s nowhere near ever being my future. Yet what do I constantly, foolishly think? That somehow a magical godfairy will show up and make it possible for me to be everything, a fucking lover to Harry Styles and a mighty editor. And all of that, all of these things, they’re just happening inside my head.  They’re figments of my imagination. I don’t even know what he thinks. I still have no idea. He could be, I don’t know, he could be moving to Australia for all I know. Or he could be in that bar right next door, hating me right this second for ruining his chances. I mean obviously he didn’t want it that much since he turned it down, I left it for him to decide, and he turned it down. They asked him, you know. They asked him, and he said no, and he’s ending his contract with GQ in December. He chose to terminate it, and what the fuck is he doing, Zayn? What the fuck am I doing? How did whoever it is that pulls our strings, how did that person think this was a great idea?’

He’s suddenly got no strength to continue, even though he feels like he could rant for days, about all the ways Harry ruined him and ruined things for him. All the energy has leaked out of him on this Manhattan sidewalk.  Instead, he looks at Zayn with pleading eyes, wishing that whatever he says next will solve everything.

‘You’re scared, Louis Tomlinson.’ Zayn’s eyes are stern, but his voice is trembling. ‘You’re scared. And what do we do when we’re scared?’

Louis hesitates, and there’s a step back he does like he’s just a second away from running, but when he looks at Zayn’s eyes, there’s reassurance there he’s never seen before. Desperate times seek for desperate measures.

‘We ask for help.’

Zayn smiles a coy smile, nodding once. ‘And what are you going to do?’

So that was his plan all along. He’s smart, that Zayn. He knew he kept him around for a reason.

‘I’m going to call for an appointment tomorrow.’

Zayn laughs just a tiny bit now, relaxing right before Louis’ eyes. It’s a sight to behold.

‘Well that was easier than I anticipated.’ He dodges a slam that comes from Louis and turns it into a sideways hug. ‘Now let’s get high on sugar and quite possibly other things, too. There is sugar where we’re going right?’

He just nods, leaving Zayn smiling even wider. ‘You’ve got stuff?’

Zayn’s laugh is freeing, and so loud. ‘Yes, you giant toddler. I’ve got stuff.’

‘I love you so much right now.’ He hugs Zayn closer, synchronizing their steps, just like when they were kids.

‘You sold your soul for a spliff.’

That night he doesn’t panic, doesn’t even shake a little, instead falling asleep on the sofa in the living room, shivering a little from how cold he only thinks he is because marijuana makes him think he’s a great singer but also that it’s so cold he’ll freeze, and humming to the sounds of whatever it is that’s playing, Zayn mirroring him on the sofa next to him.

He falls asleep not bothered, and it’s a first. It feels good, but he barely even remembers it in the morning, that’s the thing.

\-----------------------------

‘You’re wearing the world’s ugliest coat,’ he mutters, eyeing Zayn suspiciously.

He’s just come back from a meeting with the executives from Kering, the world’s second largest fashion group. He’s tired, his eyelids drooping, and it’s not even two in the afternoon.

It’s one of those days. It’s been one of those days for weeks now.

Zayn is standing on the steps in front of One WTC, looking effortlessly cool and very, very expensive, wrapped up in a black leather Balmain coat with a fur neckline. The sleeves are adorned in gold and red stripes and on his right upper arm there’s a gold embroidered emblem; dragons in action. As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, he’s got a simple black cashmere scarf from Acne wrapped tightly around his neck so it fits where the V neckline from the coat should bare the skin, and he’s got simple black straight leg trousers on.

_(Zayn's look:[coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9858a878cf8917df5a41f2a0db053262/tumblr_nvbufzZBNZ1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/308194fe93b6a967e138b251705dfc49/tumblr_nvbufzZBNZ1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

Zayn throws him a look that says ‘don’t push it’, throwing ash off his cigarette and pushing the pack into Louis’ hands.

‘Well you look splendid, my love,’ he gives Louis a onceover, tilting his head as if he’s rethinking his words, before nodding, and eventually smiling. ‘Is that Haider, yes?’

His pitch is higher than usual, and his cocky smile reminds Louis of a certain buyer he met when working for Bazaar, who would always walk around identifying people’s clothes as if they weren’t all working in the same industry, everyone aware of where exactly each garment came from.

‘Are you imitating Barbara to me?’ Louis mouths around a big breath of smoke he lets out, smiling.

Zayn’s still grinning, devilishly. ‘Oh darling, I am indeed.’ He pops his hip to one side, elbow pressed to the waist and ankle twisted on the outside, the ash falling from his cigarette as he bats his eyelashes.

World would have been a much simpler place if Louis had fallen in love with Zayn.

‘So what’s up?’ he asks, giving Zayn a chance to update him on the happenings in the office since he’s been away the whole morning.

‘Not much, everyone’s been extra lazy since you were away. The polaroids came in, left them at your desk, I will go with you now to see them. The whole fashion department had shoots today. Oh and there was the Jonas party yesterday, Victoria Beckham got papped with a wet splotch on her trousers. Also Jessica hooked up with the guy that plays James Bond,’ he rattles off matter of factly.

‘You’re the most lavish source of gossip, and the worst person when it comes to remembering people’s names.’ Louis laughs at him.

‘And that’s why you’re the worst source of gossip and the best at remembering names. We fit, boss, did nobody tell you?’

‘Don’t call me boss.’ Louis punches him lightly in the shoulder and they head back to the office, a short stop before he is off again.

He really does look good. He’s got on the cream roll neck from Haider Ackermann he finally got a chance to wear, and his Opening Ceremony trousers are just the right shade of black.  The black and white Umit Benan coat on top is his favourite purchase this fall.

_(Louis' look:[roll neck](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0b8623559ad6cbcf7618c9cc1cbfdb57/tumblr_nvbu96tjuF1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/63bf5d9e6430853a85bed3ea33d574cd/tumblr_nvbu96tjuF1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/775fd20ec891acff6d5f33ff62e63a9c/tumblr_nvbucl30Bc1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/554a0569c2f03908b893b55d7924ac5b/tumblr_nvbu96tjuF1tawb72o4_540.jpg))_

He knows just how good his ass fits in his trousers and how the rollneck swallows him because his limbs are small, and he looks even tinier than usual, but it just makes him look better.

And he loves it, the fact clothes can speak volumes if you have an eye for it. He’s learned long ago how far you can go with just looking good, and he genuinely believes in order to be your best you need to look your best. So he does, always.

As he enters the office, Zayn skipping to his own glass cage, probably to grab something to show to Louis in a few, people vanishing into thin air around him, he throws a look to the agenda that’s displayed on one of those glass book mounters perched atop Jessica’s desk. He’s got an appointment with his therapist. That’s what it says right there and he tries hard not to cringe at the word, with the therapist being a psychiatrist and the word ‘psychiatrist’ being on the blacklist. Maybe he should add ‘therapist’ to the blacklist, and just use her name. Maybe that will make it less sickening.

He doesn’t have anything against getting help, or talking for that matter. God knows, every person in New York and their dogs have therapists.

Well, if he’s being completely honest he’s got a lot against both when it comes to himself, but he’s learning not to because Zayn asked him to try and Zayn’s been nothing but supportive, farting in his bed every night, but also holding him without Louis even needing to ask. There’s a silent stream of support he’s receiving every day from Zayn, without hesitation. So he is being okay with it. For Zayn, because maybe in this case, just maybe, Zayn knows better than him.

Turns out he didn’t have to wait for his appointment even for a mere twenty-four hours. Apparently one of the many perks of the whole of New York City having at least two psychiatrists is the fact that he can get one of the best, if not the best herself, to see him in a day. It was Jessica who informed him that morning over the phone, without much ado, that she had the doctor on standby for when he would crack under the pressure.

‘Honestly, Louis, I don’t see why you are asking me how she got you an appointment so fast. You’re the biggest person in fashion. The whole of New York has been asking themselves why you didn’t have a weekly scheduled appointment with her for years now.’

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Correction, Zayn said he’s not fallen. Just working on it.

He should really stop referring to Zayn so much in his own head.

After dealing with office business that includes a coffee and a nasty discussion over the editorial photos that just came in from Dallas, he ventures off, gathering courage and sees McCreamy, a nickname he gives his doctor after he steps into her office and there’s just shades of cream all over. Her chairs are cream and grey, and her walls are covered in cream tapestry. She’s also creamy, with a thick sweater in dark nude and perfectly ironed trousers two shades lighter, with Tory Burch vanilla ballerinas on her feet.

She’s the typical Upper East Side mother who lunches but also works, and although her manners are mirroring years of learning French from native speaking tutors and lunches at Bergdorf’s after school, she has got kind eyes and a soothing voice.

That’s the only thing that makes him stay. Her non-intrusive, open questions, however, almost make him bolt several times but he figuratively glues his ass to the sofa and he sticks for the three hours his sessions is supposed to last. When he leaves, it’s with a promise to see her next week, and he’s told her bits of this and that, not really sure what the whole conversation was about.

He opens the door of her luxurious office to let himself out thinking about a picture he painted to her of Harry with his words. He’s banned himself from thinking about him, clicking on his name in the media, and he’s been carefully cultivating a life that’s essentially Harry Styles-free.

So when she asked ‘What seems to be the pressing issue’ and then asked him to describe Harry in terms of what he was to Louis, the best he could, he was forced to find a shortcut through all those walls he built around his memories in order to access them, to set them free in his mind. And when it happened, when Harry came to life behind his eyelids and his laugh rang in his ears, it was like a slap in the face, right there.

Louis is good at fixing things, because that’s what editors do, they choose the best and fix the mistakes, and use their expert eye to make decisions that will ultimately bring a great final product. So he’s been fixing himself the best he can, just like he does with the magazine. He’s fixed himself so good he’s now at a point where he can run so fast and so far that he’s at his best, beating even the times and distances he had in his early twenties when he was a true exercise junkie. He updates the social media and blogs, and researches and figures out the modern world and how it can fit his needs, and he’s fucking good at it, too, bringing in the traffic to the official site effectively. And ultimately, he’s found a way to get himself to think about Harry only when there’s nothing else he can do. Only when his mind is just a swirl of thoughts about Harry and questions with no answers flood him so unstoppably he lays in bed and lets it pass. That doesn’t mean he’s not trying or not keeping it under control, because he knows himself, he’s the obsessive type, the one that would spend every waking hour staring at Harry’s face in photographs and looking for tiny pieces of Harry’s life he willingly decided to share with the world if it weren’t for the self-imposed ban. He’s doing good, he likes to think, just not good enough.

And so when McCreamy asked him to dig all of it up from the only place that’s not under his control, his memory and subconscious, it was like he was drowning.

He got through it, telling her pieces and bits about his personality and what they’d done together, and when he registered his own words filling the air, he recognized a sort of awe that engulfed them. He has no idea what to do with it.

‘Harry’s British. We met when we were in Paris for the couture shows. I actually approached him, I wanted to take a photo of his outfit for Instagram. He looked so good that day. You know, I’ve never seen anyone be so bold. Yeah, we all push it, with colors and prints and shit like that. Zayn wears fucking fur and leather at the same time and he even tried the Burberry cape for the recent fashion week. He doesn’t give a fuck, at all. I don’t either. Well, none of the editors do, really. I mean, there are some that are strictly all monochrome, and don’t really step up their game, and even though they’re brilliant at their job, I always ask myself where’s the fun in it? You have in front of you, in your palm, the most creative industry, with so many choices and clothes you get lent and sent for free. Depends on how successful you are, of course. And you pick the same skinny black jeans and a black shirt. Aren’t you bored?”  He ran a hand through his hair.  

‘I’m a fan of classics. I love the way a good suit makes you feel and the way you can wear a simple tee and washed-up jeans with a pair of Converse and you’ll look like a proper pop star. But when you’ve got this giant menu that changes every three or four months now, with the speed at which the fashion calendar is spinning, wouldn’t you like to try it all? Why order the same fucking thing every time, you know? And then there’s Harry, he’s just the opposite. And the best part is, he doesn’t work for a fashion magazine. Well, it is fashion, they do fashion, but it’s menswear and they also focus on many different areas so you can’t say his head is strictly in fashion. I think that’s why we clicked maybe, a lot of people in this industry don’t see past the clothes, they get blindsided with the parties and the glamour and the private drivers and what not. I do fashion, yeah, but mostly my day is about business, I monitor so much that happens and get shit done behind the scenes. The talk that filters through to Page Six or Women’s Wear Daily, that’s maybe two or three percent of the deals I make on the daily. I’m not bragging, it’s my job, I made it my job. And I love it, you know, I get to be the one that sees a young hopeful finishing Parsons one day and two seasons later, they’re signing a collaboration with, I don’t know, any of the giants really, let’s say Topshop, or maybe I’ve managed to pair them up with investors ready to bring them to the next level. Or when I recommend a new designer to LVMH, a kid that’s struggling because their voice can’t be heard properly and six months later they have free rein over a brand that offers them the world. You know, that’s what this is about, not just the creation of the magazine every month.’  He took a quick breath.

‘So Harry and I, we do similar things. We do more than what’s obvious or asked from us. He came into my office when he was in New York and to fill his time while he was waiting for me, he wrote a great article for the website. It was so good, I didn’t even have to think if I wanted to publish it, it was just a logical choice. He’s so young to be an editor of such a big publication, and he’s doing a brilliant job. He gave me so many ideas when it comes to online presence and how to use it to your advantage. You have to have that concept of what’s next and what’s in people’s minds and react accordingly if you want to succeed and he’s got this way of reading people that’s extraordinary. I think that’s why he didn’t give up on me in the first place. I kind of ignored him for some time before we started hanging out, and for some people, they would just have given up, called me a prude and let it to rest. He knew it was fake, I could tell he saw it. So when I did finally give up, and I don’t blame myself, the man is sex on legs, he didn’t press it or try to label it, which was remarkable. I don’t know, he’s different. He’s a person that’s so rare, with how kind he is, especially in this industry. There’s not many kind people, although Zayn always tells me that’s bullshit and if you look closely you’ll find kindness where you least expect it. But he’s unwavering, Harry, he’s just there, on display, the kindness and the grace and the smile. Even when he’s tired or annoyed, he’s Harry; you can count on him. There’s two people I would trust my life with, I always go at it this way when I have to figure things out. Would I trust this person with my life? And Zayn’s always been the one I could count on. And then Harry marched into my life, so easily, and even now, if Zayn wasn’t available and I had to choose to trust my life in someone’s hands it’d be him. Fucking ridiculous how easily that happened. I had the most fun with him, and his other two friends and Zayn, the most fun in maybe ever, running around cities and drinking and eating, just talking and being a little group of people that are so comfortable in each other’s presence. You never see those things until they’re gone, I guess.’

He stopped talking when he realized he could go on for days and if he did she’d think he’d absolutely lost it. He looked up and nodded, shutting his mouth and trying to regulate his heart beating wildly in his chest.

McCreamy was smiling at him, and she told him he’d done well, and not much later their three hours were over , and he got up and left First the room and now the office as fast as he can, jogging to the car that’s waiting for him parked right in front. He sees his driver through the tears that are threatening to spill any second, and he asks him to leave, to take a break and give him the keys and not to come back for the next hour.

Dave, or is it Craig, looks at him for a long moment and with a questioning look before he nods once, and drops the keys to the car into his open palm, and then he’s off, crossing the street and his figure is soon gone from Louis’ vision.

He unlocks the car and jumps into the backseat. He’s grateful for the tinted windows and the heat that welcomes him, and he shrugs his coat off so there’s only one layer of cashmere on his skin, before taking his head in his hands, pressing his whole back against the door. He makes himself the smallest he can be, drawing his knees up to his chest. It takes him a breath or two, and then he starts crying, loudly, without any control.

There’s so many different types of crying. Today, the sobs take over his whole body and he does it shamelessly, and he can’t even care if a stranger passing by can hear him or that he’s sitting outside his therapist’s office in a car. He can only hug himself the best he can and cry. There is no controlling how hard his arms shake where he’s gripping his knees or how in between the rounds of tears there’s hiccups that make him jump so hard he’s in pain from it all. Then it begins again, and he’s crying like someone turned the faucet on and left it to run and he hopes with all of his heart that the weight on his chest with leave him with the tears, bounce off his body and into the vast space around him. His lips are buzzing and he’s a mess, he knows his face is an angry shade of red and his hair is probably all ruined and his sweater is soaked as he hums to himself, trying to calm himself while the tears run. Everything feels so tragically wrong with him, and he doesn’t know what to do, so he just lets himself cry longer, and he think about how it’s so fucked up that this right here is the only thing that feels right. He trembles for a long time, so long he’s not sure if he’s still there after it it’s over and when he shuts his eyes he can feel the salt on his cheeks, and his eyelids are sticky. It feels good after, because there’s no panic to it, just the unbelievable sadness, and he’s calm once he does stop and he realizes that the wave has passed and he’s just empty now. The thought makes him almost cry again, but he presses his cheek on his knee and closes his eyes for a bit more, and finds a happy memory that he can hold on to, Harry with sweat in his hair and passion in his eyes when they were running, the most domestic thing he can think of in this hectic world, and he lets himself think about it, playing it over and over in his mind, until his breathing settles and he’s himself again.

He’s not sure why talking about Harry triggered such a strong reaction out of him, and why he’s crying like his life depends on it in the back of the car parked in the middle of the street in Upper Manhattan. Harry’s at the heart of this problem, if he can even call it that way, but he’s also got nothing to do with it.

Essentially, it’s not Harry he’s crying about. It’s not Harry he’s panicking about and it’s not Harry who makes him feel lost. Yes, Harry’s made him open his eyes, but it’s not about him, it’s about Louis.

In the end, it’s about Louis fighting for himself. Finding his own peace, and reason, and maybe, just maybe, a happy ending.

The fact he doesn’t even bother denying is, all of his scenarios that entail a happy ending feature Harry in the main role.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that.

The driver comes back soon after that and he fixes himself in the mirror using the make up he keeps under the passenger seat of the car. There’s still hours left in the day, and he hops out of the car at his building, getting back to the seventeenth floor.

There’s gifts on the floor in front of his office, in the small adjoining room right before the big double glass doors. Where there’s usually nothing but a carpet he crosses each time, now there’s what seems to be at least fifty packages and his two assistants sitting on the floor instead of at their respective desks.

‘Already?’ he looks at Jessica, who is holding a pair of scissors in one hand and an iPad in the other, a firm look on her face.

‘Yes, we’ve started categorizing them today. We should start with wrapping your packages tomorrow and they should be shipped off by the end of next week,’ she rattles off, and goes to stand up, giving a stern look to the new girl.

‘You can stay here, I don’t mind. Are there any good ones? Also I’ll need my coffee and the change of clothes for the party later.’

He settles in his office and grabs the magazines from the coffee table in the back of the room, ready to watch the show. He knows Zayn will show up in the next few minutes, the gift opening his favourite thing this office has to offer. It’s late November and everyone who is anyone has already sent off their presents for Louis, and they’ve just started to come pouring into the office. Now it’s up to Louis’ assistants to open them and make a list so he can choose what he’ll keep and what goes.

Jessica gets up and brings him a few selected items: a beautiful simple platinum bracelet from Cartier that is a gift from the president’s whole family; a black Rolex, the newest model he hasn’t had a chance to see yet from Donatella Versace; and a Charles Mayton painting from Saks’ chairwoman. They’re all very much his taste, everyone going a little overboard since they’re covering both his upcoming birthday and Christmas with their gifts.

When Zayn comes in he looks at Louis with glee in his eyes, clapping excitedly as he jumps over the huge pile of boxes that are now blocking the entrance to his office, and he brings the chair next to Louis’ so they are both facing his assistants unwrapping one utterly overpriced gift after the other.

Louis usually doesn’t care about it, not when he could buy whatever his heart desires anyway and when he genuinely feels like he’s got every material thing he could ever wish for already, but Zayn’s joy is contagious. He yells to Jessica whenever he spots anything shiny or borderline ridiculous, and soon his desk is as cluttered as the floor where his assistants are sitting, and Zayn is telling him he’s taking half of the gifts, playing with the latest gadgets people sent him.

It’s a slow evening as the two women work, and he alternates between watching Zayn and updating himself by browsing ten or so magazines, the ones that matter.

They head off to the Alexander Wang underground party that night, and he changes into a black and white striped sweater from Saint Laurent and a Haider Ackermann velvet deep green blazer over distressed grey jeans and Saint Laurent star-studded black leather lace up shoes. That’s the most underground he can go, and he knows he looks too posh but the blazer somehow reminds him of Harry and that time Harry went for a full runway Ackermann look so he indulges himself, knowing he looks good anyway.

_(Louis' outfit:[sweater and jeans](https://40.media.tumblr.com/84088aa1e3ba23e26b8fdbee35975b1a/tumblr_nvbtxojauA1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [blazer ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/1add008adc54f5b2b2672adac6b01339/tumblr_nvbtxojauA1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/89fc75d554ea1d46e87b3ddde2784b84/tumblr_nvbtxojauA1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

He regrets it later when his back is glued to Michale’s front and he’s grinding on him like they haven’t known each other for five years. There’s sweat forming on every surface on his body and he curses the sweater, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He lifts the fabric in one swift movement to his waist and makes a knot on the side so it’s now firmly wrapped around his middle and his stomach is bare, the hot air hitting his skin.

He’s feeling himself, the way his abs move whenever he moves to the music and how his ass drags across Michale’s legs and crotch as he alternates between just swaying and dropping his hips to the beat.

As they entered they were handed a mini party package that contained joints and a few pills that he identified as LSD. He laughed in Zayn’s ear when they lit up, wondering when fashion became so wild again, and at the same time remembering it never stopped, he just became kind of boring.

So now Michale, Louis never understood his name, is keeping his hands on Louis’ hips as he dances to Rihanna, and he’s not even that gone, having had only a few drags and a few tequila body shots in the corner when Zayn asked him way too many times. Michale’s his favourite choice in dancing partners because he never gets tired and knows how to move, and he always smells so nice that it’s not that hard for Louis to lose himself in the moment.

He goes home alone when he can’t dance anymore and the clock tells him it’s close to four am, hugging his friend goodbye with a dirty grin and leaving Zayn with his newest choice of companion, but he’s feeling different when his head drops to the crispy sheets. He’s not scared, or panicking, or sad, not really. He’s just empty. He can’t tell if that’s a step forward, but it sure doesn’t feel like it.

\----------------------

Calm before the storm. He hates that expression because it’s applicable to everyone’s life in so many different situations it lost its meaning a long time ago. Yet that’s what this is, or what it was, yesterday, that calm he felt after leaving McCreamy’s office and crying his soul out, and the peacefulness at the office, or as the bass pulsated in his body at the party later. It was all a big calm.

He skips his run because nobody should run on half an hour of sleep, and he skips the morning all together, trudging into the office a little before noon, after he postponed waking up a dozen times. Everyone is mingling around looking like death in their overpriced outfits and there’s a strong smell of Starbucks as soon as he steps on the floor.

Wang’s parties are always the worst and the best.1

There’s a coffee on his desk waiting for him and he tells Jessica to bring him everything from pancakes to fruit and eggs for breakfast as soon as he spots Zayn pretending not to be sleeping in the chair he claims as his in Louis’ office. God knows, the only thing that will wake him up is food.

When he crosses over and gets a proper look at his face, however, Zayn’s got a panicked expression and his eyes fall to Louis’ desk involuntarily. So something happened.

He follows Zayn’s gaze and is faced with Harry Styles

Yes, that’s definitely Harry. His eyes, his nose, his eyebrows. And most definitely his hair. Harry’s face is splayed over the front page of three different publications. Over it, there’s a title he never thought he’d read in his whole life.

_Harry Styles Lands Net-A-Porter_

_Young British Force Takes Over Net-A-Porter - Harry Styles The New Executive Creative Director_

_Net-A-Porter Welcome Harry Styles_

He reads it once, then again and again until the letters blend together and he’s unsure if what he’s just seen is real. Zayn’s face is expectant when he meets his eyes and he’s sitting straight now, waiting for Louis’ reaction.

Louis slumps into his seat, and he’s unsure what his reaction should be, so he just drops his Louis Vuitton on the floor and shrugs his coat off, picking up WWD first and opening the article.

_‘The former editor-in-chief of Britain’s GQ is the new executive creative director of Net-A-Porter group. The news comes as Styles has not only declined to extend his contract with the publication, but apparently also turned down the opportunity to take over Vanity Fair. The young British trendsetter and member of the London it clique was the hottest thing on the market, apparently, as Net-A-Porter snatches him for a hefty sum. Styles will run the newly-opened office in New York as the business moves almost completely to the US, but will travel extensively to keep up with the Asian market and the London HQ.’_

It goes on and on, the speculation as to how and why he signed the contract and why anyone would hire a publishing guy for head of the creative part of a multi-billion dollar company.

‘What have you done, Zayn?’

He looks up and his best friend is staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t look scared, and he should, he really should.

‘Nothing.’

‘Cut the bullshit. They would have never have had the idea out of the blue. Editor-in-chief to go commercial? Please. Also I remember hearing you talk; you’ve been off to a few lunch meetings with Harry’s new boss. So please, tell me what you’ve done.’  Louis’ tone is ice cold.

‘I told you, I didn’t do shit. Really. I may have name-dropped him when we started talking about revolutionary moves and how Net-a-Porter should be market-leading,f forward-thinking.’ Zayn bats his eyelashes and Louis could honestly pour his steaming hot Starbucks on his pretty little head.

‘Zayn.’ He is fuming, really. He’s not even sure why, maybe because he’s the last to know.

‘Oh please, if I had any indication from you that you wanted to know I would have told you. You’ve been avoiding his name so fiercely I was not going to go ahead and ruin your plans. So shut up. And there’s been talk of it ever since he dropped the Vanity Fair deal, you’ve just tuned yourself out if it. Everyone kind of knew. Or they guessed, since there were a few others who could have be chosen too. I was also merely one of the many who had lunch and dropped a name.’1

Louis looks at him as it settles in.

Harry. Net-A-Porter.

‘So he’s moving to New York.’

‘You’re so dumb sometimes, seriously. This is not news, Louis.’ He snaps his fingers in front of Louis face. ‘Wake up. He wanted to move for so long, and he was working on it, and he would have eventually done it whether you came into the picture or not.’

‘Your motivational speeches are what keeps me going, Zayn,’ he smiles at his friend, who’s gone from worried to slightly exasperated and now seems to settle at mildly annoyed.

‘I’m gonna let you mull this over,’ he stands up and walks over to Louis’ side of the desk, dropping a kiss to his cheek. He smells like lavender, and Louis closes his eyes and inhales the scent, and he can feel his blood pressure dropping.

Just as he is about to walk out of the door, Zayn turns around halfway, and adds: ‘And I’m going to see if Jessica’s got any gifts for me to claim as my own.’ He winks and flashes his teeth and then he’s gone like smoke with a spring in his step.

Louis makes himself comfortable in his chair, gripping the coffee in his right hand as he takes The New Yorker and concentrates on the words before him. He reads all three articles about Harry once again, letting the words settle in completely.

Harry.

The best part is he can’t say he’s surprised. Not really.

He spends the rest of the day working after telling Jessica to find him any and all publication that printed an article with words Harry Styles in them and bring them over. He’s on autopilot, going through whatever’s scheduled using muscle memory. His brain is occupied with Harry, and if Harry’s happy, and what this all might mean.

Harry is going to be in the same city as him. They will share it. Two months ago they shared a bed and the quietest, most intimate of words. Now it’s all burned, and they’re walking through the ashes. Well at least he is, and now they’ll be living on the same patch of land.

Louis can’t tell if this is the most hope he’s had in years or if he’s the most hopeless he’s ever been. He places his bet on both.

He turns down Zayn’s offer to sleep over at his and goes home alone for the second night in the row. There’s a storm coming, and he’d rather face it on his own.

That evening, rain floods New York City’s streets and drenches the passers-by as panic overtakes Louis and he’s yet again gripping the sheets, struggling for breath so much it’s painful.

It’s a different now, though, not just a never-ending stream of questions, but only a few loud ones that barge through the door and pound all the alarms he’s got in his body, pressing for answers.

What now?

He doesn’t sleep that night, not even when he’s calmed down and drinks a bottle of water and exfoliates his face and does his whole nighttime routine in hopes it will lull him into a sense of familiarity strong enough to push him over the edge and into the land of dreams.

How is he supposed to sleep when Harry’s there and he is here and his heart is beating on his own and his hands crave the touch of Harry’s skin and his body aches with the emptiness of not having Harry?

He takes the duvet and his cigarettes and pads to the balcony, all alone. He lights one up, and then he goes through the whole pack, as the people walk beneath him and he watches the rain fall heavily on their backs.

He wonders how many feel the same emptiness he does.

He wonders how to fix it.

\----------------------------------------------------------

His birthday party falls on the sixth day of December. He celebrates his birthday early every year, taking a vacation right after and venturing off to a different part of the world with Zayn.

This year’s venue is MOMA, and there’s around three hundred people mingling around, all intoxicated and happy. He knows how to do parties, and this one, enriched with the holiday spirit and the slight desperation that’s always connected to Christmas that can be felt in the air, is always highly anticipated.

He’s got a simple black fitted shirt on with white paint splattered over it in tiny dots, so delicate and exquisite he knew he had to have it the first time he saw it. He’s in Maison Margiela dress pants in light grey that show off his ankles and he’s wearing Vivienne Westwood two-tone brogues. His hair is in a quiff and he looks so good he doesn’t feel a day over twenty five, people stopping by to wish him a happy birthday every minute or so, all of his friends present and mingling, and Zayn by his side, having the time of his life.

_(Louis' look:[shirt](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f1b7f10d837c91b31a71a31adbd5e331/tumblr_nvbto0cV2w1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/8a963be59f4ec77af384ed793240e2ea/tumblr_nvbto0cV2w1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [shoes](https://40.media.tumblr.com/4f1a7a41990d52279bba07bc37b7426e/tumblr_nvbto0cV2w1tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

The whole event is made to his liking, from the food to the people that were invited, and Zayn pulls quite a few strings to have Florence there to sing for him when they bring out the cake.

They get completely and utterly wasted once someone proclaims it is only fair they do thirty shots, each for a year of Louis’ life, and once they are past the fifteenth he can’t remember much apart from giggling too hard.

New York celebrates his birthday in a grand style. Yet he feels utterly alone climbing in his bed, as the alcohol starts wearing off and Zayn is already snoring on the other side of the bed, Harry’s side, not just alone for the sake of it but alone because the person that made him laugh the hardest and smile the most is a stranger to him. He is alone the same way he is lost, completely and without any compass to tell him where to now or how to proceed. Nothing seems to be working. And for the first time in forever, he finds himself admitting that he’s not okay.

He’s lost Harry before he had him. He loved him in the moments between what was and what might have been.

The thought first comes as a tide, slowly and it’s mild, and he barely registers it, the big words that fill his brain. And then it comes back as a tsunami, and he almost welcomes the panic that nuzzles his lungs once he plays it over and over in his mind.

Love. Fuck that.

\--------

‘Do you think I should get a dog?’

He turns his head, gripping the Louis Vuitton suitcase tighter in his hand as they walk through the Bangkok airport terminal in the direction of the exit. They’ve just landed, and there’s way too many Hawaiian shirts and shorts around them. It’s also way too hot already, and they’re still inside. Maybe they should have gone skiing. Aspen, or something like that.

‘Absolutely not,’ he shuts Zayn down, the same way he does every time he gets another stupid idea stuck in his mind. Which is approximately every week or so.

‘But we would have something to cuddle, and it would be a great man magnet,’ Zayn winks at him as people stop to stare at the two of them passing.

‘As if your exceptional beauty and cheekbones aren’t enough. No dogs, Zayn.’

Oh, there’s the exit. They should have changed on the plane, the humidity swallowing them and spitting them up with sweat stains.

‘Maybe we should have gone skiing,’ he tells Zayn, as they try to spot the driver the resort promised would be waiting for them.

‘Maybe not. I want to swim in the deep blue sea and go hiking. I want an active vacation.’

‘So you want to fuck everything that catches your eye.’

The driver shows up at last, and at least he’s decently dressed in a suit that could use some tailoring, but he’s got kind eyes and polished shoes so Louis smiles at him, planting his two big suitcases on the floor and seeking comfort in air conditioning.

‘No, I think I’ll try not to. You know, clean your soul and all that. We should do yoga.’

Louis bursts out laughing, and he clasps Zayn slightly on the shoulder.

‘Let’s just eat first. Then swim, and then we do nothing for at least a day or two. I’ll sleep under the trees on the beach and you can sketch while I take photos.’

Maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy an exclusive holiday in a seven star resort with a private beach and spiritual guidance lessons provided if they wish.

He’s going to get spiritual guidance. That sounds like exactly something that Harry Styles would seek. So he shall seek a way to deal with Harry Styles the way he himself would.

Game on.

\--------------------

Two weeks later, they’ve pretty much explored the island. Zayn and he remain the only people who believe shirts should be worn when walking around, and he’s taken so many photographs he spends hours every night sorting them and uploading to social media.

It’s pretty uneventful, apart from the fact he punches a guy a few days in when he decides Zayn will be his next romantic target and doesn’t leave them alone as they roam around Bangkok, eating various animals that should never be fried or cooked, but somehow taste good.

It feels so good, the punch and the force behind it, and the way he’s free to do it, nothing holding him back and he decides to take up martial arts with a private instructor the next day, just because he can.

He toys around with the idea of just staying there and finding a new job, something simple that doesn’t require much use of his brain capacity. He says as much to Zayn and the man nods at him, the same wistfulness written across his face. It’s much simpler here, at the other end of the world.

There’s much less heartbreak. The newness takes over you and your thoughts drift away. He hasn’t had a single panic attack in the two weeks he’s been there, and he smiles a lot, bathed in the sun.

‘I’m being serious, Zayn, should we just run away?’

They’re laying on the beach and there’s real-life turtles mingling around them, the sea the only sound you can hear for miles. They both have cocktails in their hands and there’s an array of fruit in big serving bowls next to their feet.

Zayn looks into the ocean, and Louis shifts so he can watch his face when he talks. They haven’t been this at peace in so long.

‘I thought about it, I really did. When I look at you being all kung fu in the mornings and going to your thought-provoking sessions in the afternoons and you running your fifty miles a day, you seem good. You’re at peace; there is no panic or worry in your voice. Well there is, when you talk to the office and they send over stuff for you to go through. Then you get your game face on and you’re all stiff. I mean, I get it. I’m the same way, whenever there’s a shoot coming up I’m always thinking if it’s good enough, what needs fixing. We’re programmed that way. But at the same time, if we do stay, how long before we’re bored? Because we’ve already learned the in and outs of this place, I’m just waiting for us to get restless here. And then we would have to move, to another place, something new, something exciting. And we’d be happy again, because we would have something to occupy us for a while. But we would get tired of it, I think, the new and the fact we don’t have a place we call home and we would eventually feel so lost it would be way worse than going back and facing what’s in New York.’

Zayn closes his eyes soaking up the sun like a cat, and Louis smiles at how reasonable he sounds.

‘You’ve grown up, you know that?’

‘Just because I don’t wanna fuck you every chance I get doesn’t mean I’m an adult.’

‘Oh but you are, your head is still in the clouds, but there’s now wisdom to you too. I think it’s my influence.’

Zayn shoves him so hard he falls down from his lounge chair, and his whole body is covered in sand. They take a swim in the ocean, because that’s what you do when you’re in Thailand.

It feels like the end of something. Strangely, he’s not feeling as hopeless as he thinks he should be, somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny ray of hope shining some light through the dark tunnels of months of anxiety.

Later that day, once he’s showered after his run and he’s eaten another great meal, he calls Jessica. He books a flight to London.

Zayn’s much less surprised than Louis would expect him to be. Instead, he just raises his eyebrows in passing.

‘Might as well.’

‘I hoped you booked a ticket for me too, then.’

That night he goes through every breathing technique he’s learned, clearing out his brain and letting himself be free. He does it over and over again until the panic is just a silent hum in his stomach and he’s feeling in control.

It’s time.


	9. Miles Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoa. Thank you for reading, for leaving comments in the past and in the future.  
> And a huge thank you to my cheerleading squad, you're the bestest.

So he goes to London. It’s not a big deal.

It’s snowing and his ass is freezing and he may or may not have switched Thailand for this. The whole population is driving on the wrong side of the road, so his decision to come here can’t be taken seriously, right? He most certainly isn’t here on some big love quest. Because that would be just plain stupid.

Zayn’s with him. This is just part two of an extended holiday. In London. Nothing to be scared of. Everything is just fine. Absolutely fine.

His best friend grabs the packet of cigarettes from his coat as soon as they step out into the cold British air. Heathrow is a horror story waiting to happen, the day after Christmas and so many people travelling with piles and piles of luggage milling around aimlessly.

They have no baggage, only their shoulder bags. They sent theirs off home from Bangkok and Jessica, bless her soul, promised him their new bags filled with winter clothes would be waiting for them at The Savoy, since The Ritz was completely full at this time of the year and on such short notice.

Zayn’s halfway shaking and eagerly cursing while going through his cigarette, trying to get his fingers to work over the iPhone that’s trembling in his hand. The gold of his leather jacket is almost sparkling under the strong winter sun and he looks incredibly skinny with the jacket zipped all the way up his chest. He’s wearing uncommonly tight trousers with zippers under the knees and black leather boots that reach high up his calves. There’s a white marble-print sweatshirt showing underneath and he’s got a Saint Laurent black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

_(Zayn's look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/c31c2b583e1ab41b8d0e4a2fad390f8e/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o4_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/00d3c0eb1fb0a58dfafe9fe5e00059fa/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [jacket ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ec8e5d2fa16bb1d9916970b1abf451d2/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/54243087d1107bc0744ff5e21b011be1/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

Louis is pretty sure that’s actually his duffle bag.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Zayn looks at him, raising his eyebrows and imitating a horrible British accent. His face reads as if he’s just remembered why they’ve landed here instead of the States.

‘There is no plan.’ Louis swallows, waiting for the nicotine to kick in properly.

‘There is no plan?’

‘No.’

‘Splendid.’ He should definitely cut the accent. He sounds like he’s eighty. ‘So what, we’ll just stand here and look posh?’ Zayn does a once over with his eyes, raking over Louis’ body.

It takes him every ounce of self control not to tip his black hat at Zayn and bend his knees in a ballerina bow. He’s wearing a thick Alexander McQueen coat woven in a gray and black abstract pattern and his cognac shirt and Nightingale shirt match. He’s in jeans, and that’s only because long flights and wool trousers really don’t go well together and also because that was the only warm outfit he had with him, for the first time in years wearing something twice, once for the flight to Thailand, and now again.

_(Louis' look:[shirt ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/8e585bc561fc525213454866f2f996ae/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [jeans ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/fe8714d8d48eaa0024f7ee627baa5688/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/7aab425c388f8eaac138f70615a116bc/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o5_540.jpg)/ [bag](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d263e248ac3a6df0ea2f74d866ebea17/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘You’ve been with me during every waking, and actually every sleeping hour since we left for this trip. When was I supposed to come up with a plan?’

It’s more like he didn’t really want to.

‘Well, okay, let’s just, I don’t know, let’s move. I can’t feel my fingers and I’d really prefer not to die on foreign soil.’

Once they’ve smoked two cigarettes each, they find the car that’s waiting for them and Zayn’s sleeping on his shoulder a few minutes in, exhaustion from the flight taking over. Louis is too restless, not quite sure what to do now that he’s actually here.

He hasn’t been in London in so long, skipping it for the last few years entirely for fashion weeks and not interested in ever making personal trips. Well, not until now.

He figures they can go to the hotel and sleep it off. They’ve partied like mad men on Christmas eve for Louis’ birthday, and took a whole day helicopter ride to the remote magical beaches Thailand and the surrounding islands had to offer. He hasn’t drunk, smoked or eaten so much in weeks, and he’s tired from it all, the constant celebration and the way they’ve let loose.

And you should never make life-altering decisions while drowsy, right?

\------------------

The next morning he wakes up at four, and he’s disoriented to the point where it actually takes him minutes to realize that there is no ocean waiting for him outside his hotel room.

Zayn is still sleeping, and Louis remembers him waking up during the night and making incoherent noises as he rummaged through their bags until Louis threw a pillow at him.

The sky looks miserable, various shades of grey strewn across the streets beneath him. He gets up and goes to shower, still feeling itchy from the long flight.

Everything not to think about why he’s really here.

Once he’s done, and he casts a look to confirm that it’s still as dreadful outside, he checks to see if Jessica packed his running clothes. He finds various Nike shirts and tights and his running shoes, and so he gets ready and finds the lobby to ask for a good jogging route in the neighbourhood.

He leaves his iPhone with them so they can program the route into his phone after telling them the mileage and goes to fetch a smoothie from the kitchen. The perk of exclusive hotels is never having to deal with an empty stomach for longer than it takes the resident chef to prepare you the food of your choice. Or blend it, or however it is that smoothies are made.

It’s banana and blueberry, with a hint of kiwi and cinnamon if he’s not wrong, and he makes quick work of drinking and then he settles in the lobby with yesterday’s paper, waiting for half an hour before he sets off across the London streets.

He’s desperate for solitude, nothing but concrete under his feet and faceless people he passes in a blur as he listens to an energizing playlist on full blast and zig-zags the unfamiliar streets. He thinks about what to tell Harry when he sees him, and tries to project how he’ll feel when he finally sets eyes on the man that he’s now positive is someone he needs in his life.

He loves Harry, and he’s so sure of it that it still shocks him. Every time the three words develop in his thoughts it’s as if they start blinking right before his eyes with the utmost urgency. It’s like he cannot wait to tell Harry, like it’s the most important thing there is and if he doesn’t let him know how he feels, the world will lose its meaning and everything he has come to know as real will stop existing.

He’s got absolutely no idea what he’s going to do after he finally gets those words out of him; no concept as to what happens when you finally drop a bomb like that. His time with Harry reminds Louis of a hurricane, upending his life so quickly and with such intensity, and then it all crashed and burned. And he’s not really an expert on taming hurricanes. The only upheavals he’s ever dealt with in his life have never come even close to this. He’s seen tides, and maybe even a storm or two, and he’s had his fair share of beautiful sunrises and equally gorgeous sunsets. But this, he’s kind of clueless what to do with this.

What he does know, and what he chooses to hold on to with dear life, not so much for comfort but more because he’s absolutely sure of it, is the fact that he loves Harry. He doesn’t mean  love like the way he takes his coffee from Starbucks or the way he loves his morning runs or the way he loves a gin tonic after a particularly hard day. He loves Harry in a way he’s never loved anyone before. He loves Harry in a way that consumes him.

Two hours later, he comes back sweaty and with not much more figured out then he left with, but he feels freer, the way he always does after a run. He knows he wants to do it today, wants to finish this year with a happy ending. He desperately wants to believe there is a happy ending, although he’s not yet sure what that entails; for him, and even more for Harry.

The song by Byron that Harry posted after their falling out came back to him on a daily basis when he was in Thailand, in the lazy moments and those when he felt happy, but also whenever he felt like giving up. And it’s what he clings to now: the hope that the lyrics were true, and that Harry was, and still is, feeling those three words.

He orders breakfast to be delivered to their room and takes the stairs instead of an elevator to the twentieth floor, giving his thigh muscles extra strain. He manages to run the first twenty flights of stairs before he thinks he will faint and ends up covering the rest with barely any strength or dignity left, the last flight solely by clutching the railing.

Zayn wakes up during his shower and they devour breakfast and drink their first Starbucks in almost three weeks. It’s a perfect morning if he shuts his eyes to the rain outside and the existential question of ‘what now’ hanging over his head.

‘I was thinking we could go and visit his flat. You have the address, right? From when you were all hanging out at London Fashion Week? Hopefully he’s there and we can talk.’

He brings the subject up as they unpack their bags, searching for something to wear from the four giant suitcases Jessica sent them.

Zayn nods at his question, holding up a pair of blue print trousers. ‘And you want me to go with you?’

‘Well, yeah. I’d ask you to wait for me in front, or maybe at a Starbucks nearby if he’s willing to talk to me or something. But well, we can’t rule out the possibility of it going fucking horribly wrong. And I have no idea if this zen thing I’ve got going on right now will hold up.’

Zayn looks at him, questioning at first and then he drops the trousers and steps over the suitcase, grabbing Louis by the shoulders and into a bone-crushing hug.

‘I don’t see this going bad, Louis. At all. But I do see myself by your side every step of the way,’ Zayn murmurs against the skin of his neck, still not letting go. ‘I do expect a really giant belated Christmas gift from you. And I don’t mean giant in the biblical sense. I mean fucking expensive, or rare. Or both.’

He flashes a smile as he lets Louis go, and then he’s dropping to his knees by the suitcase, murmuring a grumpy ‘Where did she put the socks’ to himself as he digs deep into the pile of neatly-folded clothes.

‘You’ve got yourself a deal.’

Louis, already dreading the cold outside, thinks hard about what to wear for his first encounter with Harry. He goes for a Maison Margiela simple black coat that ends just before his knees, adorned with a red floral band. He adds a red and black tartan scarf and classic black trousers alongside simple black Bottega Veneta chelsea boots.

_(Louis' look:[scarf ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/5f3139a13d1f91c80b4e8c24df1638a0/tumblr_nvqr0lGLaF1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/496e93717950a4b1a6222fda14064a5e/tumblr_nvqr0lGLaF1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/8c94f59ab92b02e9a12f7f12d83d5575/tumblr_nvqr0lGLaF1tawb72o4_540.jpg))_

Zayn’s the first one to get ready and he sits on the bed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he stares at his phone. He speaks up only when Louis is grabbing his gloves and personal belongings.

‘I checked his social media, you know, to see if I can find something out. There’s nothing. Just random shit like photos of drinks and I think also strips of bacon on a plate and he was definitely in England for Christmas, judging by the weird-looking food he posted.’ He doesn’t raise his eyes to meet Louis’, instead continuing to scroll away. ‘Niall and Liam weren’t active as much; mostly photos of family and some random people we don’t know. I don’t want to contact them yet, though. I’m not sure where they stand with us right now anyway.’

Louis is staring at him, bewilderment clear on his face. Shit, Zayn really thought this through.

‘Yeah, okay. Good thinking,’ he mutters. ‘Let’s just go.’

‘I checked on Google maps. It’s far from here, so let’s just get a car from the reception,’ Zayn takes him by the hand, as if he can feel Louis needs some reassurance.

‘It will be great, you’ll see,’ he pats Louis’ arm with his gloved hand.

‘Do you think I should have a speech prepared? Because I don’t. I’ve got nothing except the love confession and the I’m sorry.’

Zayn barks a laugh. ‘I think that should cut it. And Harry’s not cruel, you can talk. You know, exchange words. You say something, then he says something…’

Louis looks at him questioningly, not sure if Zayn’s mocking him.

‘Oh shut up, I’m giving you all I have. It’s not like I have any experience in this. I just tell them to leave in the morning,’ he grins, and Louis’ mood lifts.

They’re all fucked up in their own unique ways. He guesses you just need to find the kind of fucked up that fits your own, and if you’re able to do that, you should be just fine.

Harry’s apartment is in a nice neighbourhood that’s a fifteen-minute drive from their hotel. Louis’ not sure what the area is called, but he can see it’s proper posh, with houses that have rooftop balconies and neat front gardens, and the apartment buildings holding large double oak doors.

They come to a halt in front of a series of adjoining buildings, all painted white and each five-stories tall. There is a set of stone steps in front of each of the buildings leading to the main entrance and Louis hears Zayn ask him if he’s ready from where he’s sitting next to him.

‘It’s the one on the far right. Number fourteen,’ he tells him, checking his messages with Harry from September. ‘There’s a doorman right as you enter, he’ll let you in and all, but Harry’s on the top floor. An apartment per story, so you’ll have no problem finding it anyway. And he’ll tell Harry you’re there before letting you up.’

If this is Zayn’s idea of a pep talk, it’s not working.

Oh fuck, he’s actually doing this. He can feel his hands tremble, even in gloves, and he wonders for a second if maybe he can come back tomorrow.

Then he tells himself not to be a chicken and get it over with. He doesn’t run away from things, and he’s not about to start now.

He nods at Zayn, trying to communicate with his body that he’s going, and he’s sure of himself. He is not sure his voice is still there, so he just jerks his head twice in what should be an affirmative and strong move, and opens the door to the car, crossing the street and walking into Harry’s building.

If he weren’t scared, he would notice the beautiful marble floor in black and the exceptional woodwork, a giant brown old-fashioned clock on the wall opposite the entrance.

Instead he focuses his eyes on the elderly man in front of him. The resemblance to Tom Hanks is uncanny and Louis blinks several times before speaking up.

‘Hello, I’m looking for Harry Styles.’

The man eyes him up before talking, and he settles for a polite smile. ‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment, sir. Can I take a message?’

Shit.

Shouldn’t these kind of stories always feature the one who is being pursued sitting at home, waiting to be pursued? What is he supposed to do now, sit on the steps and wait?

‘Oh. I kind of need to see him in person. Do you know when he’ll be back?’

Rational, yes, he’s being rational. The man will tell him he’s back in an hour, or two.

‘I have no such information, sir. But he did tell me he should be back for New Year’s Eve.’

Two days from now.

Louis’ face must look tortured as he accepts the news, and he catches himself running a hand through his hair and walking up and down in front of Tom Hanks’ desk. The receptionist smiles again before speaking up.

‘You could always try calling him, sir. Or leaving a message with me. I’ve got a pen and paper.’

Fuck, why isn’t Harry here? Is he with his family, or somewhere out? Did he find a new guy to spend the holidays with?

‘This is the kind of thing that can’t be dealt with over the phone, I’m afraid.’

He’s got nowhere to go from here, really. If Harry’s back for New Years, well, he could stay and wait for him. It’s not like there is any other monumental tasks he needs to undertake that would stop him from staying here.

New Years. He’s going to be that guy, the guy who pursues the love of his life on the most magical, meaningful night of the year. He’s going to be the biggest cliche in the history of cliched stories. And Louis really, really hates everything about it.

‘I’ll take the pen and paper, if that’s okay,’ he nods to Tom Hanks, and the man hands him a monogrammed notepad and a completely mismatched yellow pen. ‘And I’ll sit on the steps, yeah, this will take a while.’

He sits there while people climb on and off the elevator, saying ‘hello’ and locking eyes with children and dogs and one Chanel-clad lady. He mulls things over and tries to figure out what to write or what not to write; what’s acceptable and the best thing to spark Harry’s interest.

If things were simpler he’d just write a ‘call me when you get this’, or hell, he’d just call Harry himself. But he knows they aren’t friends at this point. They’re not even acquaintances, they’ve never been anything more than a few months of hanging out and an ‘I love you’ that never got its proper ending.

He stares at the white pad of paper, clicks the pen, thinks long and hard and with force. In the end he gives up, saves the speech he’s yet to figure out for when he sees Harry, if he ever does, and writes down what Harry once wrote to him. He writes the whole Byron song, knowing it by heart now.

He signs it with: ‘I’m sorry if there are errors, I wrote it as I recalled it from my head. My number’s still the same, Louis.’

He gives the pad back to Tom, thanking him profusely and with a silent ‘I hope we see each other again’ he shuts the heavy door behind himself, jumping into the car and back to Zayn.

‘He wasn’t there,’ he tells Zayn, although he sees his best friend connect the dots just from the look on his face. ‘What should I do now? The doorman told me he should be back by New Year’s Eve.’

Zayn scoots closer so their arms are pressed to each other and maneuvers Louis so his head is resting on Zayn’s chest.

‘Well there is that Elton John party we’ve been invited to, we can always celebrate the new year here. We’ve been doing it in New York for far too long, anyway,’ Zayn’s carding his fingers through his hair as he talks, and his voice is soothing, as if everything will somehow be okay.

‘Yeah, we could do that,’ Louis sighs and nuzzles closer into Zayn’s cashmere-wrapped chest.

‘And until then, we go have fun, sightsee, drink tea, take photos. You know, what the regular people do.’

And they do. Zayn drags him to places he’s never been, and even though they get lost plenty of times due to Zayn’s lack of orientation skills, they also smile a lot. For two full days, they freeze outside looking at all that London has to offer, and they eat cake, shop at Harrods and Selfridges, and go to ride the horror that’s the London Eye. Louis forgets for a few minutes, and sometimes even for an hour or two, why he’s here.

It hits him, the realization so strong he starts laughing a bit to himself from unexpected it is, when he’s walking in one of the lesser known streets of London, Zayn in pursuit of the best vintage shops, dragging him along, their arms locked.

It dawns on him that even though he’s here to find Harry, so he can see him and talk to him, it’s actually so much more than that. It’s beautiful how subtle it is, that he doesn’t recognize it at once but it takes him a random moment like this to grasp it and keep it close to his heart. A year ago, or even six months ago, he’d never have been brave enough, or maybe even foolish enough, to sit on a plane and travel to the other side of the world. Not if it wasn’t on the agenda, not if it wasn’t a part of his plan to get better as an editor or a businessman.

His personal life and personal development were never part of the equation. He’s never thought love happens to people like him, not to people who dream for a living. And yet here he is, having found something that could potentially be a great love, and having lost it, only to now try and go and reclaim it back.

And even though, yes, he’s officially here for Harry, to seek Harry, he’s here for himself first, and the powerful rush that takes over him pumps him with adrenaline. He almost feels like flying.

The night of New Year’s Eve they decide to take a detour before Elton’s and drop by at Harry’s flat. Louis’ already dressed for the soiree, and Zayn’s already had three mini bar vodkas and is ready to party, singing with the driver in the car as Louis takes the steps by two to Harry’s building door.

It’s apparently Tom Hanks’ night off, and there’s another guy manning the desk, looking at Louis suspiciously as he enters. He keeps a neutral face as he informs Louis that no, Mister Harry Styles hasn’t been back yet.

Louis mouths a thank you and leaves immediately, not even shocked at the revelation. It’s more of a devastating, soul-crushing blackness taking over him. He’s had the feeling that this might go bad ever since they’ve landed, but he suppressed it and kept it in. He didn’t want to ruin it; the chances of finding Harry and of everything happening as he envisioned it. Now, he just accepts it as he knew it would be all along. This wasn’t his chance to take. Not here, not in London.

He jumps in the car and shakes his head at Zayn and his best friend hugs him with all he has, whispering soothing things into his hair with a promise of getting spectacularly drunk.

The party’s huge, almost all of the fashion world that resides in Britain there, along with socialites and many young pop stars. He chats with Selena Gomez almost as soon as they enter, while Zayn’s a few feet away, fetching them cocktails and exchanging hellos with Mick Jagger.

They greet people they know, some close connections and some only from having met them at a certain event in the past. There’s a loud group consisting of a few British editors and some of the people Louis recognizes from Niall’s photos; people who are also Harry’s friends. And then there’s also Harry’s regular London crowd. Faces he’s seen so much of and heard so many stories about from Harry, that when one of the socialites asks them to join them in the middle of the room, a few couches and chairs formed in a circle that they’d claimed as theirs, Louis waits for disgust to settle on their faces. But instead he’s faced with hellos and how are yous, nothing more than a flash of recognition flickering through their eyes before smiles take over.

So they don’t know the story.

He fetches himself another glass, the group’s laughter contagious and the talk flowing without interruptions or silences. Just good natured humour and more and more dirty jokes as they get past sobriety.

Louis can tell Zayn’s hot next to him, chest glistening from sweat underneath his Balmain blazer. That’s what he gets when he doesn’t wear a shirt, just trousers and a blazer to a house party where he knows he will get completely ruined. Louis laughs at him, and Zayn only rolls his eyes, dragging the sleeves of his blazer up his arms to his elbows and taking chunks of ice from the ice bucket and letting them rest on his chest.

He’s a vision, and Louis turns his head to notice a few of the men in their circle eye the two of them with interest and slight confusion, not completely sure what to think of their relationship. Zayn’s blazer is tight on him, and so are his Valentino yellow-print ombre trousers, and he’s a catch, Louis knows it.

_(Zayn's look:[blazer ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/69c48d1edd8aac80d3cce8e8ca45fc5a/tumblr_nvqr73njH51tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4e7f3782772436d5d1b4040e3c11e649/tumblr_nvqr73njH51tawb72o2_540.jpg)) _

He takes another sip of the comically strong drink he’s nursing and speaks up. ‘So, is this a single’s corner here, then?’

They all laugh, already having accepted him as their own, and nod their affirmation. Pixie Geldolf, at least that’s what Louis thinks her name is, throws him a disbelieving look.

‘Well, aren’t you two, you know, together?’ she’s points with her cherry on a stick to them, eyes glassy from alcohol.

Zayn’s laughing next to him at the question, throwing his head back and revealing the column of his throat. So it begins.

‘No, I’ve known this one for more than ten years, we’ve been just friends this whole time,’ he smiles and looks at Zayn, dropping a quick kiss to his cheek and excusing himself. He needs someone to prepare him a better drink, and he also needs to let Zayn find a conquest for the night.

He’s keeping the alcohol flow steady, not really looking forward to making an ass of himself in front of so many people he knows. He’s still in his burgundy velvet jacket from McQueen and the matching flower-print trousers, and he notices a few men he’s never seen before turn their heads as he walks through the spacious living room.

_(Louis' look:[suit](https://40.media.tumblr.com/7143ff82dfbf437d4a5a206e3fef72b5/tumblr_nvqr8tfZhh1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

_(Manip by the lovely Jacky -[ link to tumblr](petalhaz.tumblr.com))_

He settles for a mojito after much debate, deciding nobody can really fuck up a mojito that bad he can’t drink it, and he nods to the bartender to add a splash more of gin when he tries it. Turning his back to the bar, he grasps the glass, one of those big ones that hold more than three drinks in one, making it convenient for everyone, and lets himself take in the crowd and their outfits, ticking off the people he knows in his head.

There’s businessmen and wannabe stars present, PR people handling the real stars, and socialites already completely drunk even though it’s not even midnight yet. He spots at least three closeted Hollywood couples cuddling close to each other, and he laughs at himself at the life they are all living. It’s all the glamour, the drinks and the drugs. He wonders where the person he wants to see the most is instead, figuring Harry might be with his family or travelling, or maybe just arrived at another party not far from here.

He toys with the idea of texting Harry. A simple ‘happy new year’ or something equally idiotic, just to settle the nerves in his stomach. After digging through his trousers, he finds his phone in the inner pocket of his blazer and instead of texting Harry, he goes to upload a photo someone took of Zayn and him soon after they came in, standing next to each other with drinks in their hands and laughing.

After uploading it he entertains himself with scrolling through his social media for a while, checking where everyone’s spending their night, and a stream of messages comes in as he does. He leaves them for later, ordering another drink and getting back to the group, saying ‘hi’ to various people as he zig-zags through the crowd.

It’s a little before midnight and he expects to find Zayn nestled in someone’s lap by now, but instead he’s still standing next to one of the blonde girls Louis can’t remember the name of. She’s laughing at something Zayn tells her just as Louis places himself on the other side.

‘No conquests tonight?’ he asks Zayn in what should be a whisper, but the music is too loud, so he repeats slightly louder, the chances of anyone hearing them miniscule anyway.

Zayn shakes his head, a goofy, tipsy smile on his face. He brings Louis closer, wrapping his arm around Louis’ waist and leaving it there, plopping his head on the velvet of Louis’ jacket.

‘Nah, just you and me baby. Us against the world,’ he mouths around his straw before sucking the rest of the liquid from his glass and dropping it on the fireplace behind them.

He takes a sniff of Louis’ drink and after deeming it worthy, takes a sip of the mojito, sighing happily.

‘That means you’ll kiss me at midnight?’ Louis asks jokingly.

It’s part of their tradition, something they’ve done for the last decade.

‘Wouldn’t want to break the curse, right?’

Their usual New Year’s includes leaving the party when as the sun rises, going back to his or Zayn’s, whatever’s closer, and a long drunken morning filled with steaming hot sex. Zayn’s always been the type to go for a round two.

He knows the only thing this night might bring is sulking, and he grins at Zayn, nodding and scrunching his nose. Why not.

There’s not much time left until midnight, the waiters around them carrying trays filled with champagne flutes and Zayn snatching double for the two of them. The music is loud and it takes Zayn a while to get Louis to hear him, eventually taking his own phone and knocking on it with his fingers.

Oh, his mom. Right.

Louis copies Zayn and opens his messages, ready to type a quick one to his mom and send her a photo of him and Zayn just like he does every year, but as he searches for their conversation in the app, his eyes land on a new message from the man whose name he hasn’t seen written in his phone in quite a while. Months even.

He presses Harry’s name with a shaking finger, opening their conversation. There’s a single sentence there, and Louis reads it three times before his brain gets it.

**_‘What the fuck are you doing in London?’_ **

Shit.

There’s a head on his shoulder and Zayn’s smell tickling his nose as he stares at his phone.

‘Shit,’ Zayn murmurs, ‘you think he’s mad?’

‘I’ve no idea, let’s just. Wait, let me get back at him and then let’s go out, the countdown is about to go on soon.’

The timing is so inconvenient. His fingers fly over the screen as he types, and he presses send without thinking it through, knowing he’ll never settle for an answer if he stalls.

_‘Where are you?’_

Harry’s online, and he types right back as Zayn drags him through the crowd, the bodies around him all moving in the direction of the huge balcony in the southern part of the estate where the fireworks should be.

Instead of an answer, Harry sends him a photo of the light sign on the wall that says RT x Givenchy 2016. A few second later, there’s a line Harry sends.

**_‘You RSVP’d.’_ **

Someone spills a drink over his back and he curses, turning around and remembering the face of the brunette with a sneery expression. She doesn’t even say sorry.

Fucking hell. They were supposed to be at that party right now.

_‘Well you live in London.’_

_**‘You came to London for me?’** _

_**‘Louis.’** _

_**‘Answer me.’** _

_‘Yes.’_

He pockets his phone when another elbow ends beneath his ribs and Zayn yanks his hand hard. There’s tears in his eyes, and he feels angry, ironically. It’s the frustration, and the pressure of the stupid end of the year and how you begin the new one which is what alters the rest, and all of that crap. He knows it, he’s able to rationally lay it in his head, and yet he’s still not able to control the frustration and the coldness that sweeps over him.

Why did this happen? And why is it so hard for him to say that yes, he’s here for Harry, to talk to him and try to make this work. Why does he feel stuck? And why the hell is there panic in his bloodstream, rushing over him?

Zayn finds them a place in the corner of the balcony, and he plops on the railing, stretching his arms at Louis, inviting him to settle between his legs. He goes over and Zayn wraps his legs around his, arms sneaking around Louis’ waist. They must look like a bit funny like that, in the middle of the huge crowd yet completely on their own, Zayn’s head on Louis’ shoulder as he sings under his breath.

He cannot but sneak a look at his phone again, tears slipping from his eyes.

_**‘Fuck.’** _

_**‘Let’s just… I don’t know, let’s just talk when you’re back.’** _

_**‘I want to see you.’** _

_**‘Call me when you’re back, or text me and I’ll give you my New York address and you can come over.’** _

_**‘Please Louis.’** _

_**‘Happy New Year.’** _

He lets a few sobs out, Zayn’s arms tightening around his middle and rocking him back and forth. It’s soothing, and he tells himself to get a grip and to go watch the fireworks and then they can go back and maybe they even decipher why he’s crying at some stage during the night.

Shaking out of it, he types a quick ‘I will, happy NY to you too’ and accepts another drink from the waiter making his way over to them,

The countdown starts soon after, and the fireworks are loud and bright, Zayn snapping photos next to him. All the while his other hand still rests firmly in Louis’.

They exchange a quick kiss, nothing but a peck on the lips, and he catches himself smiling into it.

Around them people are kissing obnoxiously, hands roaming bodies, and there’s people clinking their glasses and laughing, hugs getting exchanged. They stay for a while, have bits of finger food and some more alcohol and at some point Louis snatches chocolate cake and the last thing they do before leaving is sneak into Elton John’s kitchen to ask the chef if there’s food he can pack for them.

The first night of the year goes by with the two of them nestled under the covers as they watch holiday movies and eat and drink as much as they can. Louis talks, sometimes just a few words and sometimes for long stretches, about Harry and how he’s scared. He talks for as long as he can feel panic and fear, and he lets Zayn cuddle until he’s sure again, of coming back and talking to Harry, of trying to make it work.

\------------------

New York’s winters are Louis’ favourite thing in the whole wide world. Countless stilettos slipping; fur coats everywhere and hot chocolate. It’s the time of the year he feels fresh and new, always bursting with new ideas and ready to set himself new goals.

There’s snow everywhere, even on the roads, and the traffic is a nightmare. The ride from JFK is making him crave a cigarette from how long it’s taking.

He opens his phone and reads the address to the driver again.

‘Please drop my bags off right away, and you can come back here then. I’m not sure how long it will take, but I have your number. You can go get a coffee nearby or something, just be parked in front of the building.’

The driver nods as he comes to a halt in front of what must be Harry’s new place.

It’s beautiful, a proper house with deep rich red walls in Tribeca, and he smiles, because it’s just what he pictured it to be like.

Harry opens the door as soon as he rings the bell and his face is the same as Louis remembers it, his hair wrapped in a bun and glasses perched atop of his nose. His mouth quirks up when he sees Louis, and he utters a quiet ‘hi’, eyes expectant.

‘Hey.’

That’s all he can manage, looking at Harry with such intensity it’s like they haven’t seen each other in decades. He’s so beautiful, his face something right out of a Disney movie.

‘Did you come straight from the airport?’ Harry asks as he welcomes him in, opening the door wide and letting him come through.

The strong smell of cinnamon hits Louis as soon as he sets foot in the house, the steps on the right side and the hallway in front of him leading to an open plan living room. The tiles on the floor are white with black spades and there’s a lot of wood, on the staircase and the walls. The ceiling is high, higher than in Louis’ apartment, and the space feels enormous because of it. He turns his head around to notice the things that are already unpacked, bits and pieces strewn across the room,  a plant in the corner next to the door.

When he looks back at Harry he’s smiling at him, a familiar expression written all over his face.

‘Yeah, didn’t want to risk one of us leaving the city again,’ he replies with a sad smile.

His blood is on fire, uncertainty whirling around his brain and he can feel his hands starting to shake a bit from how uncomfortable he is.

Harry’s just looking at him, and they are standing facing each other in his lobby like it’s something the two of them do: weird encounters and staring contests. It’s unnatural, that’s what it is, the feeling of not having a witty reply for Harry’s joke ready and not hugging Harry when he enters. He looks over to the man he’d like to call his and the only thing he sees is his failure to make this happen. He remembers the fact he ruined Harry’s chances of getting the job of his dreams, and he told him to get out when Harry told him he loved him. It makes it hard to breathe.

Harry motions for them to go into the living room and he probably tells him to move, too, but he’s not sure, his thoughts a mess, and he’s not sure where he’s at now, following Harry on autopilot.

He takes the seat next to the window, the room bathed in the frosty winter light, and Louis chooses the comfortable chair that’s closest to the entrance just because he’s not sure he can walk any further than that.

His vision is blurry and he can see Harry asking him something but no sound comes to his ears, only a buzzing noise present as he feels his heart trying to jump out of his chest. He tries to breathe, he really does, but nothing happens, and he’s heaving with the need to get oxygen.

Fuck, he’s crying in front of Harry, and he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get himself to a point where he can stop this and explain, maybe get some words out, or at least stop shaking.

He gasps for air and thinks of the talks he had with McCreamy about what to do when the panic takes over. Name one thing you can see. He looks down and notices his hands trembling, and he can see those, he can see himself. He can see his hands. He focuses on that, hiccuping as the tears roll down his cheeks and then there’s another set of hands next to his, unsure and careful. They grasp his and squeeze and Louis has no control over his limbs to squeeze back, and he’s also in no state to say anything, his breathing still shallow and irregular.

The hands go past his and sneak around his waist and then he’s being lifted into the air and Harry carries him across the room, all the while whispering unidentifiable things in his ear.

Harry sits down on the floor and places him gently in his lap, glueing his torso to Louis’ waist and wrapping one of his hands firmly around Louis’ middle as the other one travels up and down Louis’ arm.

‘Breathe, Louis, come on,’ he can hear Harry repeat, over and over.

Think about five things you can see. Harry’s legs, the chair in front of him. Three more, he can do this. There’s a white carpet, Harry’s ankle tattoo, the shade from the sofa.

Four things you can hear.

‘In and out Louis, come on, just like when we’re running.’

Three things you can touch. He takes a big breath, the biggest he can muster, and he leans back against Harry, feeling his head drop on Harry’s shoulder and Harry’s front pressed to his back. He roams around with his hand, eyes closed, and he feels Harry squeeze it before lacing their fingers.

Two things you can smell. That one comes easier, the musk smell of Harry’s curls and the cinnamon in the room.

And one slow, deep breath.

‘You’re doing great, Louis.’

He grounds himself with every breath more and more, and soon he can get the air into his lungs almost normally. The tears are still strong, rolling from his eyes like waterfalls, and he’s letting out these noises he didn’t know he was capable of, his body trembling in Harry’s arms.

Harry’s stopped talking, and the only thing that’s echoing in the room is the sobs that escape him, and he feels ashamed and guilty, of the things he cannot put his finger on and the things he cannot do much about. He’s lost it in front of Harry, and yet Harry’s still here.

‘Can you just,’ he hiccups, another sob escaping him, ‘t-talk, about anything, just, please,’ he pleads, closing his eyes again and trying desperately to stop crying.

Harry nods in his hair. His body is firm behind him, and Louis feels safe, and warm.

‘Want me to tell you what I’ve done since we last saw each other?’ he asks hastily, uncertainty in his voice.

‘Y-yeah.’

There’s nothing he’d rather do than listen to Harry talk about his life.

‘Well, I’ve… okay, let me start from that day in Paris,’ his voice is deep when he talks, and Louis shudders at the memory of himself screaming at Harry. ‘No, hey, don’t, don’t panic, I wouldn’t tell you stuff if I thought it was gonna upset you. Just listen to me, okay? You don’t need to talk, at all.’ He stops, rubbing soothing circles over Louis’ torso and shoulders, the other hand still tightly intertwined with Louis’.

‘I went back to my room and it took me quite a while to calm down, and I wasn’t really rational for days after that, drinking my weight in alcohol. I was brooding and I didn’t talk much and I was angry, but I wasn’t really sure who I was angry with, you know. I just chugged one drink after the other and after a while I felt so sick I puked in some back alley in the middle of Paris. The guys had a hard time with me because I was so angry I didn’t listen to them when they wanted to take me home and when they started telling me bad stuff about you I started running away from them, but you know how I am so I fucking tripped like a few metres into the run and fell and ripped my two thousand dollar trousers,’ he chuckles, and Louis can’t help but smile at that too, and he knows Harry can see him because he relaxes behind him.

‘And then we went back to the hotel, I puked again after raiding the mini bar, and I wanted to go back to your room, but I had no idea what to say, and you looked so disappointed and angry, and fuck, I thought it’s better to leave it. I was angry at you too, for not saying it back, but the realization about the magazine, of who was in charge, the shock was so strong it took me days to grasp that concept.’ He pauses, and Louis squeezes his fingers in hopes that will be enough, not able to talk yet.

‘I was such an idiot, I don’t know how I even thought this plan could work. It’s just that I never really paid attention to the behind the scenes stuff. The job at GQ came to me quite unexpectedly, and I focused more on making the magazine better than who’s who in the Conde Nast empire. I thought you could be an editor first, but it doesn’t really go that way, that job is so much more, it’s business first and content later. I’m sorry, I owe you a huge apology for that, and even though we were both wrong, Louis, we were both such idiots in not saying things we should have said, I’m awfully sorry for putting you in that position. I didn’t know you’re in charge, and I wouldn’t have ever done that if I knew. I know it’s not an excuse, but I didn’t know.’

The words break Louis’ heart and the tears start to flow freely again at the sincerity he can feel in Harry’s voice.

‘We went to the airport the next day all moody, the boys because I still wasn’t talking and me because I was lost as to what to do, and I was also hungover, probably the worst of my life. And when you called, I thought you were calling to ask me where I was or something, but instead you just told me you were giving me a choice, and I was so fucking angry that you even considered I’d take it and put you into that position,’ Harry nuzzles his head closer to his ear before continuing. He’s rocking them back and forth slightly, and Louis feels his heartbeat slowing with each rush of words Harry gets out.

‘I said no, of course, you know that, said I had a better offer. The call didn’t come until a few days later, though, maybe they needed some time to pick a favourite or something. And in the meantime a call from Net-A-Porter came. They said Vogue gave an official recommendation for me, although I suppose it wasn’t you,’ he stops and waits, letting Louis gather his thoughts.

It takes Louis a few minutes before he’s able to speak up, swallowing his tears. His voice is raspy when he does, and he doesn’t recognize it at all.

‘No, it wasn’t, they never asked. Zayn’s worked with them on side projects before, and he’s friends with the owner. I would have said the same, if they asked, but it was him.’

He pours all he has in those words, his body drained from the energy that went into fighting itself, and he leans back on Harry’s shoulder when he’s done speaking. He’s so tired all at once.

‘Yeah, I thought so actually. I figured if it was you, they’d say your name. Anyway, I said yes after a few days of negotiations and talking Liam into moving with me. Niall was already in New York much of the time for work, and I didn’t want to go without him. Net-A-Porter has a big sports department, so he’s working with me again. And then I finished my business in London, got the final issues ready for print and worked alongside the new editor for a while, packing my stuff for the big move. I missed you every fucking day, Louis. It’s actually quite unreal just how much I missed you, and I don’t want to miss you anymore.’

‘I missed you too, so much,’ he tries to get up and turn around in Harry’s arms but his body is useless, lax and heavy, so he just nuzzles closer and squeezes Harry’s fingers.

‘And I didn’t tell you that day, but I do, too. I love you too. I don’t know if you still love me, but I never stopped.’

Harry’s silent for a while and then he kisses the column of Louis’ neck gently.

‘I couldn’t stop even if I tried.’

His eyelids feel heavy and he’s fighting to keep them open as Harry sways them, mumbling a tune Louis can’t figure out.

‘You tired?’

He nods into Harry’s chest, shifting so he’s curled up in a ball, and Harry scoops him up without much force, getting up and walking across the room and up the stairs.

‘Let’s get you to bed then.’ He’s gentle as he climbs the steps and Louis smiles into his shirt, clutching him tighter.

Harry’s room is the first door to the left and it’s spacious, with the walls painted in a soothing shade of vanilla, and the walk-in closet opening up to another room, much like Louis’.

The bed is enormous, with a wooden frame and columns stretching high up into the air, and there’s a white duvet with grey polka dots neatly strewn over it. Harry lifts the duvet with one hand and gently places him down, on the sheets. He discards his slippers as he goes to close the curtains and then he’s walking over to the other side of the bed and climbing in next to Louis, immediately scooting over in the bed so he can wrap his arms around Louis again.

He’s gone for what feels like only a second, making quick work of it, and Louis feels himself relax when he feels Harry’s torso on his back again. Harry’s so warm and solid and his hand completely covers Louis’ as he catches it and settles it across Louis’ stomach.

Louis exhales a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding, and he closes his eyes, listening to Harry breathe into his ear and his smile is soft against Louis’ skin. Harry hooks their ankles together and buries his face in Louis’s hair. A little while later, he sneaks his hand under Louis’ jumper and leaves it there, pressing a thousand kisses into Louis’ hair as he drifts off to the land of dreams.

\------------------

He wakes up to Harry tapping away on his laptop, big gold earphones on his head as he bobs it to the music. He hasn’t noticed him yet, occupied with whatever it is he’s doing, and Louis just watches him in silence as he works, humming something that sounds awfully like Rachmaninov under his breath.

It’s with a heavy heart he finally stirs enough to get Harry’s attention and when he does look at him, Harry’s mouth stretches into a wide smile, his dimples prominent.

‘Hi,’ he mouths and Harry takes off the earphones, dropping them on the pillow.

‘What time is it?’ he asks, and he thinks for a second about how this should be weird, waking up in Harry’s bed after a cuddle and an episode of panic and crying, but all he feels is calm, and safe. He feels like he was drowning for a long time and he’s finally gotten to the shore.

‘A little before eight, you’ve been out for almost ten hours.’

He smiles happily, stretching his arms as Harry puts the laptop on the nightstand. He’s got this undeniable urge to kiss Harry, not just out of gratitude or because he woke up in his bed, but because he’s missed Harry’s mouth on his for months now, and Harry’s right there, smiling goofily at him. He can’t find one reason why he shouldn’t.

He gets up and walks over to the bathroom, and finds Harry’s mouthwash, erasing bad breath before going back to the bed and crawling back under the covers where he was.

Harry’s eyes are moss green, big and sincere, and if Louis looked long enough he could find the happiness spelled across them. He doesn’t have to, not really, not when he feels it too.

‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks as he scoots as close as he can get without actually climbing on top of Harry, and it takes him a few seconds before he nods, grinning.

His hand comes up to cup Harry’s cheek and Louis feels like every single one of his nerve endings is on fire as he does, excitement building in his toes and rushing through his veins. He brushes his thumb across Harry’s cheekbone, and then moves it down to feel his jaw, tracing a line over it. It’s one of Louis’ favourite parts of Harry’s face, how prominent and strong Harry’s jawline is, and he lets his fingertip explore the skin, eyes never leaving Harry’s.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat as he does, and Louis can’t get over how soft Harry’s skin is. Harry smells like daisies on top of his usual scent, and it’s intoxicating. He nudges Harry’s nose with his before he leans over all the way, his lips ghosting across Harry’s.

In an instant, Harry leans into his touch and he closes his eyes as they move their lips together slowly, as if it’s their first time.

‘I missed you so much,’ he whispers, and he can feel his breath ghost across Harry’s lips as he does. Harry doesn’t open his eyes, only smiles and leans back in, this time with more force, and he kisses him properly.

He feels everything else fall away and drift into nothingness as Harry’s tongue nudges his lips and Louis opens his mouth. Harry’s lips are plush and soft, and Louis has never been kissed like this: sweet and tender and passionate at the same time.

He feels bare, and yet he feels safe, and he doesn’t want to pull back, ever, doesn’t want to stop leaning over Harry and doesn’t want to stop kissing him.

They part only to get some air into their lungs and then Harry’s flipping them over and he’s the one holding himself up over Louis as he kisses him, alternating between forceful and tender, his tongue chasing Louis’.

He collapses back onto the pillow in what feels like minutes and Louis rolls onto his side so they’re facing each other. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, staring at Harry’s eyes and sneaking kisses.

‘I think we should go on proper dates; do this the right way,’ he tells Harry as he plays with his curls, a smile tugging on his lips. ‘I would like to take you on a date, Harry Styles, if you’d let me. Let me woo you properly.’

Harry smiles before he says he’d love to and then they’re kissing again, pressed against each other from head to toe. There’s no heat behind it, just making up lost time in kisses, and Louis desperately wants to stay in this bed forever, never move and just kiss Harry senseless for the rest of eternity.

‘You know, people usually go on dates so they can get to the sleeping together part, and then the ‘I love you’ part,’ Harry tells him as he makes himself comfortable on his back and Louis’ body covers him so his head presses exactly where Harry’s heart is beating in his chest, ‘and we’ve kind of been doing it backwards.’

‘You have a problem with us going on dates?’

‘Oh no, I’d love to go on a date with you. And then another, and another. I’d like to go on as many dates as we can to as many places as we can.’

Louis grins at him, dropping a kiss to his nose. ‘That was the only proper answer.’

After what seems like hours he finally leaves Harry’s place, and he gasps when he opens the door and sees the car waiting for him downstairs, the same car and driver he’s left there to wait for him ages ago.

Harry cackles when he sees his face. ‘Don’t worry, I told Dave to go home as soon as you fell asleep, I noticed his car when I went downstairs from the window. He came back a few minutes ago when I texted him.’

Harry Styles, ladies and gentleman. Louis really knows how to pick his clothes and his men.

He kisses Harry goodbye with a promise to see him tomorrow for their date, and he gets back into the car, giving Dave the next week off as soon as he’s settled in.

‘I almost left you to starve to death. You’ve got paid leave, go be with your family, and I’ll see you in seven days,’ he tells him when they stop in front of Louis’ building, and he takes out his wallet, leaving his driver with a generous tip before saying goodbye and running into his building, trying to escape the cold.

It’s almost midnight when he looks at the clock and he dials Zayn’s number to let him know the news before changing into sports gear.

There’s fifteen miles he’s got to run today according to his schedule and he griths his teeth as the cold air swallows him, fighting the first few miles until he’s warmed up enough that the run becomes comfortable. He runs the rest with a smile on his face, rested from the sleep and the image of Harry’s lips on his making comebacks in his brain.

He goes to sleep that night a little less scared and a little more sure. He’s nowhere near the end yet, but he’s definitely come a long way from the start.

\-----------

The next morning in the office is hectic to say the least, and he alternates between yelling and sarcastic responses as everyone seems to be in a lethargic mood, making excuses about the cold and the parties they’ve been to, and mostly about the fact it’s the third day of January and they’re at work.

‘You’ve all had a fucking month of free rein while I was away, stop slacking off!’ he grits his teeth at the new girl when she can’t get him Demarchelier for the third time that day.

He puts on the long electric green coat over his grey Balenciaga suit that makes him feel like he’s in the Matrix and strolls over to Zayn’s office.

_(Louis' look:[suit](https://41.media.tumblr.com/90074cf385c6882e3047c6f05c0ef2f5/tumblr_nvqrzwPGct1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat](https://40.media.tumblr.com/bd39eaf1325e1c8b05bcfdfab089bc0c/tumblr_nvqrzwPGct1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘Need to get moving, the DVF lunch is in half an hour, and it’s across town,’ he tells Zayn when he pops his head into the office. Zayn’s wearing his glasses hunched over a high table, a million polaroids in front of him.

‘Yeah, sorry, lost track of time.’ He drops his glasses and walks over to the hanger to take his coat, today Etro’s baroque gold print on a rich caramel-colored velvet.

_(Zayn's look:[coat](https://36.media.tumblr.com/9c0f1fe14cd3d9efd8ae93212a6b9ba6/tumblr_nvqs11O6so1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

They squeeze in a cigarette before the ride and then they’re late to the lunch, but Louis only finds it fitting in this already disappointing day. Zayn’s nagging on about one of the models looking awful in the latest editorial photos and Jessica is texting him constantly with one problem after the other, and yet the only thing he’s capable of focusing on properly is the memory of last night and Harry’s lips on his, and the prospect of them having the time of their lives tonight.

He smiles and nods his head where needed and encourages Zayn to drink an extra mimosa to calm his nerves before setting off for his meeting with McCreamy.

She greets him dressed in mocha today and he chuckles to himself as he takes his seat. The room smells like the lilies he sees perched atop her desk and she’s eyeing him with a smile on her lips. He talks for three hours and she once again only listens, and at the end she tells him only that he’s doing great and that she will see him next week.

If he had to make an assumption about McCreamy, he’d say he’s obviously getting somewhere with his problems but exactly where that is he’s got no idea. She talks as little as possible, usually leaving him to come to his own conclusions, and he’s definitely not going to fight her on that one.

Louis cuts his office hours short for his date and he goes over the editorials that are due this issue with Zayn, crossing two off and getting Jessica to book reshoots for the next few days, leaving Zayn with planning a completely different set of looks.

There’s a change of clothes Jessica dropped off at his table and he dresses in his office before walking over to the beauty department to take advantage of the many overskilled editors that Vogue employs.

He’s in a grey Lanvin animal print shirt with a light beige jacket over it and after much deliberation, he chose Julius’ tight wool trousers that look almost like leggings on him, with beautiful knit panels on the inner thigh. He stops by the closet to pick out a coat and he ends up taking the most beautiful maroon double-breasted coat from Marni that features a huge flower-shaped collar and goes all the way past his knees. Someone wrapped a grey tube scarf around the hanger of the coat when putting the look together and he takes the scarf too when he remembers how cold it is outside.

_(Louis' look:[shirt and jacket](https://40.media.tumblr.com/b5200aeb5f4b75291ac88bc664297521/tumblr_nvqs66XlzX1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f399cf7e8096d17bfc6f36e6a2520b9a/tumblr_nvqs66XlzX1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/8cd758b4125d7ec56a46318ed9107da9/tumblr_nvqs9aC77t1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [scarf](https://41.media.tumblr.com/fd8e2afcfe413e9270e87310990f619f/tumblr_nvqs6vAmx91tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

There’s just enough time for one of the editors to take a look at his face and take out the whole make up box filled with correctors, dabbing them on his skin before he has enough time to get properly settled in his chair.

He taps on his phone while he waits, and is relieved to see that Harry seems eager for the date if the multiple texts he’s sent Louis during the day are any indication.

He, just like Louis, didn’t go home, instead raiding the company’s extensive wardrobe, and is now waiting for Louis to pick him up, getting some last minute work done.

The thing that seemed to be bothering Harry the most was where they were going, and Louis didn’t want to disappoint him by telling him right away so he just tells him to dress casually, even though he knows neither of them has any idea what that really means, and that they’ll be warm so he doesn’t have to worry about layering more than usual.

Harry meets him dressed in a leopard print cropped jacket from Burberry that Louis is quite sure was featured in the women’s collection and he’s got high-waisted trousers on with mid-calf patent leather boots in black on his feet.

_(Harry's look:[ jacket and trousers ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/527b64967acc1784d9035b778cb3d90b/tumblr_nvqsbnSKhh1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d3adcb18372207b040c05342d23f805e/tumblr_nvqsbnSKhh1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

He looks like every man and woman’s dream and Louis kisses him as soon as he’s close enough for their lips to meet, sighing happily into it and wrapping his hands around Harry’s neck.

‘Well, hello to you too,’ Harry says when they part and he’s giggling like a six-year-old as he takes Louis’ hand into his.

Louis scrunches his nose in what he hopes is a cute way and pulls on Harry’s hand, prompting him to start walking, their arms swaying in between them as they synchronize their steps.

‘So, where are you taking me?’

Louis turns so he can look at Harry’s face properly, and snowflakes have already found their way into his hair. He looks like Snow White, and Louis grins at him, drunk on the sight of Harry next to him alone.

‘Well I thought I’d go old-school, and super cheap too. Well the cheap part isn’t planned, it’s just how it is. I’m taking you to see a movie. I figured you’ve never been to one in America and we can choose what to do after that.’

Harry beams at him like he’s just told him there’s a yacht waiting to take them to Saint Tropez and Louis can’t resist but stop in his tracks and drop another kiss, this time to his cheek.

‘So, what did you do today?’ he asks Harry, and the man starts telling him all about his new job and new colleagues and the way Liam broke the office glass door when they tried playing football.

‘You gotta call it the way it is, babe. And it’s soccer, you’re in the great USA now.’

Harry just shakes his head, and continues with the story, telling Louis about the big glass doors that remind him of Louis’ office and admitting that his office might be a bit bigger than Louis’ at Vogue.

Louis vows to come and inspect it soon, and Harry lights up like the sun when he does.

They go for a romantic comedy both of them have never heard of but which features Emma Stone, and really, how bad can it be if Emma Stone’s acting in it. Turns out it’s proper bad, but they laugh anyway, and Louis is grateful they’ve got a love seat so he can curl up in Harry’s lap and nibble on his neck as the movie plays out, Harry hissing when he bites a bit too hard.

It’s comfortable, and warm, and in the end they stay for another movie, waiting for the room to clear out and get filled with new people as they sit in the corner at laugh at people wearing Ugg boots and bringing their own snacks instead of buying overpriced popcorn.

The second movie is better, a historical drama with a happy ending, and both him and Harry end up sobbing. They blow their noses during the credits and get wrapped up for the cold, settling for Louis’ favourite diner to get something to eat.

It’s almost midnight and he feels like he’s picked Harry up just mere minutes ago given how time flies. They order for each other when Harry tells him that’s what you do on dates, and he gets Harry chocolate and banana waffles and an Oreo milkshake while Harry gets him double fries and a burger. In the end they share both, and their stomachs hurt at the huge portions.

He tells Harry all about his panic attacks when Harry asks him about his day and he mentions he saw McCreamy. It comes naturally, and he realizes he has no trouble talking openly about it to Harry, telling him he’s not yet sure why or what exactly triggers it, each time different. Harry’s face is serious, and he listens carefully, asking a question here and there, and he promises Louis he will read about it to try to understand it better.

‘And if you ever want, we can visit McCreamy together, I’m sure she’ll find something that’s wrong with me,’ he says in a mocking tone, but Louis knows he’s serious and how much he’s trying. He gets up from his chair and walks over to the other side of the table where Harry’s sitting, kissing him a ‘thank you’ and an ‘I’m sorry’, trying to get everything into that kiss.

They end up sharing a cab and he doesn’t say no when Harry asks him to sleep over.

‘If I’m honest, and I know it’s crap since we’re supposed to be dating,’ he tells to the darkness, Harry’s breath a gentle breeze over the hair on his neck and Harry’s hand travelling from his torso to his knee as they lay curled up on their sides, ‘but I don’t want to go to sleep without you there. Not today, not tomorrow, not really.’

Harry giggles in his ear, and he may need to record that sound and set it as his ringtone just to hear it as many times a day as possible.

‘You’re lucky I share the sentiment,’ whispers Harry, and that’s all he remembers before Harry kisses him one more time and he’s off to sleep as swiftly as a bolt of lighting.

\-------------

Their dates get more and more ridiculous in just two weeks and he finds himself in one of those mystery rooms on a Tuesday alongside Harry and their three friends who have become part of their entourage someway along the way.

They are trying to solve a puzzle in order to escape the room and he laughs as Harry repeats loudly his findings for the third time while Niall’s screaming about the time from the other corner of the room. He reads the clues once again before looking over to where Zayn and Liam have decided on a tactile approach, feeling things over with their hands.

He chuckles to himself before going over to the white board and calling them all over to write down what they have so far. Harry’s bouncing on his feet with excitement and Zayn rolls his eyes at him.

‘Okay guys, let’s do this. Harry, hit me,’ he says as he scribbles what he thinks is the first clue as a bullet point.

The three laugh at his sentence and he turns around to see them all making lewd gestures at Harry who’s shaking his head.

‘You fuckers, shut it. He’s not hitting me with his cock but with his brain.’

And then they’re laughing again, wasting the precious time they have to solve this puzzle, and it takes Louis several tries and threats of never getting access to the closet again for Zayn and not inviting them to the model parties for Niall and Liam to get them all to focus.

They solve it in the hour they have and when Harry unlocks the door with a victorious grin, he whispers a quiet ‘I wouldn’t mind you hitting me with your cock today,’ into his ear.

Harry licks his lips hungrily and nods, once, before they all leave the building and go for drinks in one of the nearby bars. The rest of the evening is spent in getting progressively drunker in Niall’s case and ogling the occupants of the next table in Zayn’s, while Liam entertains everyone with yet another failed date story and Louis and Harry play footsies under the table.

Louis excuses them after they spend a reasonable amount of time trying to pretend not to want to take each other’s clothes right there and then, Harry’s bulge growing visibly as the night goes on, not from Louis’ touches but just from the promise of later that Louis constantly keeps hinting at.

They opt for Louis’ apartment because it’s closer and Harry actually races him back which he succeeds in until Louis catches up and jumps on his back. Harry carries him the rest of the way while Louis whispers one dirty thing after another in his ear, and it messes with Harry so much he almost drops him severals times.

Louis opens the door to his apartment and they take off their clothes as if that’s the only thing left for them to do from now to eternity, with such rush Louis gets all dizzy when in one second Harry’s kissing his neck, still in his coat and the next his cock is hard and free in front of him, and Harry’s tattoos are there in front of him, ready for Louis to nibble on them and suck as many bruises as he wants.

Harry kisses him with lust in his eyes and Louis moans into it, feeling himself getting hard as Harry presses his body into Louis’,slamming him into the wall, his cock getting trapped between their bodies.

Hunger saturates Louis’ eyes and he looks at Harry when they part.

‘I love you,’ he breathes and he doesn’t wait for an answer, instead lowering his head and attaching his lips to the juncture where Harry’s neck and shoulder meet. Harry gasps and his hands go to Louis’ hair, and Louis has to bite back a moan as he tastes Harry’s smooth skin on his tongue. He sucks and nips, biting along the line of Harry’s neck, getting the tiny whimpers out of Harry’s mouth and taking them as a prize. His cock is starting to thicken between them and he ruts against Harry every time their cocks touch.

Harry untangles one of his hands from Louis’ hair and presses his hand around both of them, wrapping them in his huge palm and just keeping his hand there.

Louis almost blacks out, having not felt anyone touch him in months, and it’s Harry who is touching him now, and Harry knows all of his weaknesses and sweet spots and knows how to drive Louis mad.

He hisses before biting Harry’s neck one last time and then he looks at Harry through his eyelashes, knowing Harry gets off on how good he looks like that.

‘You’re perfect Louis, you know that right? Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful,’ his voice is raspy, and it gets rougher as he speaks, ‘so perfect. I want you so much.’

Harry leans in and sucks on Louis’ earlobe, making Louis squirm, raising goosebumps on his skin. ‘Do you feel how much I want you?’ he groans, and he brings Louis’ hand down to his cock, grinding his hips once.

‘Harry,’ it comes out needy, and Harry kisses him again, covering Louis’ lips with his own. Louis sighs into the kiss and lets Harry curl his tongue around his.

His mind is nothing but Harry Harry Harry on repeat, and he’s so hard he needs something, anything, Harry’s fingers and Harry’s cock. He wants it all, he wants to choke on Harry’s dick and make him come down his throat and he wants to ride him, circle his hips so good it will make Harry lose it. He wants to taste the cum drip from Harry’s ass after he fucks him. He wants him bent over and just plain simple and over and over again.

His skin is prickling all over because Harry’s mouth is hot and relentless, now sucking bruises against his collarbone, and he can feel Harry’s mad heartbeat fluttering against his own as Harry rocks against him, circling his hips. He’s already dripping precome, and Louis knows he’s been on edge for ages now, knows he’s completely gone for it.

He tugs on Harry’s hair and gets him to look at him and then he yanks his hand and leads them to the couch that’s five feet away from where they’re standing, because there’s no way they’re getting to the bed upstairs, and he needs a surface to lay Harry on.

Harry’s hands work their way up his chest as soon as drops down on the sofa and Louis climbs on top of him, his fingers flicking Harry’s nipples and making Harry moan loudly in the empty room.

He bites down on Harry’s lower lip and whines into his mouth, circling his hips across Harry’s crotch, making Harry thrash beneath him.

‘Louis,’ he pulls back, pupils blown with desire, ‘tell me what you want?’

Louis looks at him, his hair tousled around his perfect face and his jaw so inviting Louis licks a stripe with his tongue over it, inhaling Harry’s scent. His eyes roll back with how good Harry is, how perfect he is for him, and it takes him a while to figure out the answer.

‘I want you to fuck me, I need your cock inside me,’ he whimpers, voice cracking, and he knows it’s the truth as soon as it’s out of his mouth. ‘Want you to touch me, and your fingers and then your cock, please.’

Harry closes his eyes for a second and groans, before flipping them over and licking across Louis’ collarbone before he crosses the room and brings back condoms and lube.

He kneels over and spits against Louis’ hole, wrapping his hand around his cock as his slick finger enters him, and Louis whines loudly, not having felt this good and this full in so long it’s almost too much.

He looks over at Harry and he’s intoxicating, his long curls falling into his eyes and his chest glittering with sweat as he pumps his finger in and out of Louis. From this angle Louis can see Harry’s index finger disappearing into him and he’s so hard he could cry.

‘Harry, please,’ he chokes out, and his voice is so high.

Harry obeys right away, and Louis knows it’s because he cannot tease him, not when they’re both this desperate, and he pushes in another finger, circling them and crooking until they find Louis’ prostate and Louis is cursing and letting out these high-pitched moans that have Harry biting his bottom lip so hard there’s blood. He adds a third finger, his other hand leaving Louis’ cock and gripping his hair instead and when Louis’ looks at him with bloodshot eyes, he yanks, hard.

Louis cries as his head gets pulled once, and then again, and Harry hisses at how good he looks, already completely under the spell while he fucks himself on Harry’s fingers.

Louis can barely breathe, the sensation too high, and he feels he could come right now if Harry told him to, just from how relentless Harry is with his fingers on Louis’ prostate. His mouth is hanging open and Harry leans over after taking his fingers out of Louis’ hole and catches his lip between his teeth before pulling Louis in for a sloppy kiss.

‘Harry, please,’ he sounds so desperate Harry’s having trouble believing this is real, and he pushes in slowly, settling his hand on the curve of Louis hip and rubbing circles with his thumbs into the soft smooth skin stretched across Louis’ hip bones.

‘I love you so much,’ Harry says softly as he bottoms out, and Louis lets out a quiet moan.

Harry fills him up so good, that he sees stars, and he hisses through his teeth as he grips the back of the sofa and circles his hips.

‘Oh my god, Louis,’ Harry groans, completely still as Louis starts moving his hips. ‘You’re riding me so good, fuck, you feel so good.’

He bites his bottom lip again, taking Louis’ cock in his hand as Louis slams his hips into him. He’s shifting, making eights with his hips as he thrusts back into Harry, and he knows Louis is looking for the angle that will make Harry’s cock hit his prostate.

Louis lets out a breathy moan that borders on a yell and his cock spurts precome over Harry’s hand, and Harry can see him getting desperate in his grinding, every time Harry bottoms out drawing another moan out of him.

Louis’ eyes are closed and he’s just a mess, and Harry’s never loved anyone this much in his whole life. He tugs on Louis’ cock faster, making Louis let out a string of whimpers and groans while he slams his cock into his hole fast.

He’s not going to last, not with Louis looking like every dream he’s ever had splayed across the sofa in front of him, his hands still gripping the back and his cock looking so fucking good bouncing every time Harry thrusts into him. He pumps Louis faster, and he’s never been on edge more in his life, Louis choking out a chorus of curses and then just tiny ‘ah’s, his legs shaking.

‘You wanna come baby?’ Harry asks him, and it’s filthy and needy.

‘Yeah, fuck, so close,’ Louis sounds like he’s about to cry and Harry pounds into him, his grip even more erratic and his need to make Louis feel good so strong he almost sees stars.

‘Love you so much,’ Louis chokes out, opening his eyes and locking them with Harry’s and it’s all that it takes for Harry to come inside of him, Louis’ hole clenching around him as he fucks him through his orgasm.

He can hear Louis moaning as he repeats it over and over again and then he’s coming too, all over Harry’s hand, and there’s white strings of come all over his torso up to his collarbones.

He pulls out and ties the condom, dropping it on the floor and scooping Louis in his arms.

‘Love you,’ Harry murmurs into his skin as he carries him up to the master bedroom and under the shower, and he repeats it a thousand times more, each with the same force as the first, while the hot water soothes their muscles and time stands still as they kiss.

He goes to sleep wrapped in Harry’s arms and with a silent promise of forever hanging in the air.

He hasn’t questioned himself once today, and he knows that even if he does at some point during the night, him waking up means Harry will wake up to, and no matter if he talks or if he’s just silent, Harry will be there, his arms around Louis’ middle.

He knows he’s going to be there when Harry loses it in the bathroom stall at work and calls him because he’s not cut out for the job and he can’t do it, and he will leave his office and light up a cigarette as he murmurs quiet reassurances into the phone until he can hear Harry calm down and feel confident again.

He knows they make each other strong.

Harry pulls him closer, until there’s no way to detect where one of them ends and the other begins.

‘I am yours,’ Harry whispers, and his breath is warm on Louis skin.

Louis’ eyelids threaten to shut him off from reality and he fights to keep his eyes open for a second longer.

‘You’re saying I’m stuck with you.’ He says it softly, but inside he’s giddily happy, rush of love and commitment taking over him.

‘Still so many dates to go on,’ Harry giggles. The stars shine so bright tonight, and Harry’s words are prettier than any song he’s had the chance of hearing.

‘Things to see,’ he continues, squeezing Harry’s hand.

‘Places to visit.’

He can almost hear Harry mull things over, coming up with another thing to put on the list.

When he finally speaks, it’s not what Louis expected. ‘Oh, and we need to find Zayn a boyfriend,’ his voice is serious but then he breaks into tiny giggles that echo in the room.

‘Is that what you’re think about right now? Out of all the things in this world, you’re think about Zayn?’

They really do need to find Zayn a boyfriend.

He chuckles too. Harry makes him giddy, and do silly things. He’s not yet sure, but he’s quite positive that’s what love does to a man.

‘I’m going to forgive you only because you made me come not long ago. And orgasms are severely underrated.’

Harry barks out a laugh and licks his shoulder. ‘We can add that one to the list: orgasms to achieve.’

He smiles, his eyes fluttering shut and Harry’s long locks tickling his nose. ‘I knew I picked you for a reason.’


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this great idea about what to write in the notes before the last chapter, and then I forgot and now I'm stuck with thank yous. So thank you to every single one of you who's just reading this, it means so much. Thank you for making me laugh with your comments and for incredible feedback, it's been a pleasure writing this for you for the last nine weeks.  
> And a huge thank you to everyone who read this in advance and cheered me on, you have a special place in my heart.

It’s a Vogue wedding.

Louis’ eyes dart towards a running figure in the distance and he squints to get a better look at who it is, although he already has an idea of who it might be. He laughs to himself because this might just be the first time he’s seen his best friend actually making an effort to run, his legs a blur as he takes the stairs by two. The next second the same figure is falling unceremoniously, and Louis can hear a faint string of curses right after a loud sound of crashing carries through the open space. He squints better, and yes, that would be Zayn’s three thousand dollar camera in pieces.

It’s just after sunrise, and he looks around to see people already milling about, carrying vases full of lillies, tulips and peonies. The warmth is seeping through the air, but he can feel it’s going to be a pleasant day. Not too hot, ideal for a wedding ceremony.

He takes out his phone to check his messages, and when he’s faced with no new ones from Harry, he pockets it and makes a round over the massive stone walls where the long tables are being set up for this evening.

The crystal clear Adriatic sea is shimmering when he hovers over the wall and looks down and the sound of the waves and the chit chat from passers by mix and make a pleasant background noise.

Maybe he should take a swim after his run. If only he could find Harry.

His shoes slip on the marble stones as he walks and he cackles to himself. That’s what he gets for wearing sandals. He adjusts his white Etro sweater, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows. It’s big on him and his shoulders are bare, and the loose ribbed knit leaves plenty to the imagination, his golden skin showing underneath. He’s completely in white, as you do while on a fabulous Croatian vacation. Well, not exactly a vacation, but there is sun and sea, and there’s been plenty of wine.

_(Louis' look:[sweater and shorts](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bb188428eedd1a1377ebec5f40b27050/tumblr_nvqtghHVzu1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [sandals](https://36.media.tumblr.com/a9a147304d48263909666ae93b1fe4f4/tumblr_nvqtghHVzu1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

As he walks he’s yet again completely in awe of his surroundings. He can see some of the beautiful Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque churches, monasteries and palaces that adorn the city from where he’s standing, as the walls and the forts around him present the highest point of the city.

Niall catches up with him as he examines the chairs they are bringing to the tables. They are gold and white, and look so beautiful Louis wants to cry from the sheer attention to detail that went into planning this.

‘Hey, you’re up already. Couldn’t stop being the boss, huh?’

Niall eyes him up and down, as if he’s looking for traces of doubt on him. If only he knew that Louis never felt more sure in his life. He probably does, only a blind man wouldn’t be able to spot just how much determination Louis’ eyes hold these days.

‘I need to go for a run, otherwise I will be too itchy the whole day. Was actually looking for Harry, but couldn’t find him anywhere.’

‘He’s with Liam, I think they are helping out a bit in the palace.’

Niall’s positively beaming at him, and he can’t help but join. He’s so ridiculously happy he thinks he could fly. Niall gives him a pat on the back and walks over to one of the long tables that host fifty, dragging his hand over the smooth surface.

‘Actually, Zayn gave me my own tasks to do, he’s got us all involved and all that. I have to check up on the tables here, then I have to go over and fetch the Polaroid cameras and bring them here for the guests, and there’s also ten more things he’s written down.’ He produces a piece of paper from his pocket, and Louis sees a typed-up to do list that looks very much like something Jessica would make.

‘Okay then, I’ll go myself. Don’t stress yourself, Niall. It’s a long day.’ He plants a loud, obnoxious kiss on Niall’s cheek, laughing as he takes careful, slow steps down the walls and towards the palace.

The palace is an actual palace, with stone walls and marble floors and beautiful inside balconies adorning a huge hall that reminds Louis so much of Game of Thrones he feels like a king every time he sets foot into it.

He smiles when he notices Liam and Harry helping carry heavy boxes that hold parts of the stage for tonight, dropping them on the marked places around the room. They are singing to Florence, and he can see Harry’s phone plugged into the sound booth in the corner. Seems only appropriate.

Louis watches them laugh and carry the boxes from his spot underneath the marble arch and he cannot help but smile to himself at how bubbly and energetic they both seem to be, helping out with physical labour at the crack of dawn. He sure knows how to pick them, both boyfriends and friends.

When Liam catches Harry in a headlock and Harry starts laughing even more, he finally jogs over to them and jumps on Liam’s back, prompting him to let go of Harry and catch his legs as they curl over his stomach.

Harry smiles as soon as he catches sight of him, the dimples prominent on his cheek. He’s in a light silk navy shirt and matching shorts, and there’s a typical Marc Jacobs floral print over them. Louis wants to kiss him so bad.

_(Harry's look:[full](https://36.media.tumblr.com/606693d1e46da53f613f8a5cc6c3f827/tumblr_nvqtinmr6t1tawb72o1_540.jpg) - without the jacket)_

‘Hey babe, you’re up already?’ Harry’s voice is raspy, the way it always is in the morning.

Harry’s so pretty, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Louis really needs to get his lips on him right this second, so he jumps off Liam’s back, and grins at his man, bringing his arms around Harry’s neck and joining their lips.

He’ll never get over how good it feels to have Harry kiss him and lick into his mouth. He’s always so eager but also so careful, and he can’t see that changing, not now, not ever. Harry kisses him the same way he kissed him the first time in front of the Vogue offices two years ago, and he’s the same attentive, wonderful, devoted person he was when they met.

‘I think it’s the time difference. Or maybe the fact I’m too excited’ He stands next to Harry so he’s facing Liam, and drops his head in the place he likes to call his, between Harry’s shoulder and neck.

Harry chuckles lightly and brings him closer with his hand on Louis’ waist and they watch Liam as he takes out a paper from his pocket and reads from the long list.

‘Do you all have these to do lists from Zayn?’ he asks Liam, as the man reads over the list.

‘Yes, everyone except you two. If Zayn knew Harry was helping he’d freak out, so I would advise you to leave, and not come back. I’d say you have a few hours of calm,’ Liam winks at the two of them before getting back to the heavy lifting.

Harry grabs his hand, his palm pressing into Louis’ and he looks at him like there’s nowhere else he would rather be, with slight wonder and awe in his eyes.

The thing is, Louis’ overwhelmed, that’s what he is, with the city they’re in and with the day they’re about to have. And the most of all, he’s overwhelmed with the fact Harry’s with him and he’s holding his hand, even after two years. The best part is Harry doesn’t seem like he’s going anywhere, mirroring him in movement as much as in happiness that’s painted on his face.

So that’s what love and commitment does to you.

‘I was thinking of going running, maybe try that trail the receptionist told us about. It’s apparently five miles long. And then hit the beach. We could skinny dip.’

Harry’s smiling as he listens to Louis talk, and then he’s pressing his lips into Louis’ hair in silent agreement. He smells so nice, just a bit musky from sweat.

‘Sure love. Can’t believe you’re so giddy you need to run,’ he laughs at Louis as they walk and then he’s slipping on the marble as they approach their hotel, and Louis catches him just before he’s about to hit the floor.

‘Who’s giddy now?’ He pulls Harry up by the hand and snuggles closer, pressing a soft kiss to his neck and nuzzling his face to Harry’s chest.

The city of Dubrovnik is waking up slowly around them, and there’s nobody running here, not a single soul rushing anywhere. The height of the tourist season has already passed, and even though there’s still plenty of tourists milling around, most of the people they meet this early are locals who are all tanned, and carry big smiles on their faces, talking fast and loud.

Louis’ heart beats as one with this place. Everything in the ancient fort city is within the walking distance, one of the many reasons Louis always comes back. It’s full of hidden gems and places yet to be found, secret doors that are actually someone’s home right on the main street. It’s one of the most beautiful places Louis’ ever been to, the city a longstanding fort even after so many wars that have been fought in this area. It reminds Louis of himself a bit, and he can’t help but feel like he belongs here in a strange way.

They change hastily into their running clothes and Harry meets him in the lobby, clad in black shorts and with no shirt on.

‘You know, when Zayn and I took that trip to Thailand, we were the only people who were wearing shirts on the whole island. Just because it’s hot, doesn’t mean it’s time for you to be stripping in the middle of the street.’

He really can’t stand people who walk around half-naked. And yet, he might make an exception for Harry.

‘We’re going running. On the beach. It’s okay Louis, nobody will mind.’

They definitely won’t mind, that’s kind of the point.

He drags his fingers over Harry’s abs, his skin bronze from the weeks they spent on the rooftops of New York, drinking margaritas. They’ve also been to Malibu, where Harry taught him to surf. Then at some point, they ventured on a road trip, because why the hell not, and Louis could turn it into a side project for Vogue, take way too many photos for the website and maybe even doing a last minute spread. He did, of course. He also blew Harry while he was driving somewhere through Nebraska and they made love under the stars somewhere in Omaha. He’s not so sure of all the details, high on adrenaline from something new, and drunk on the stare that spelt nothing but love Harry was giving him the whole time.

They go running and it’s a soft pace he picks so they can go as far as they want without feeling too much of a strain. It’s almost an hour and a half later when Harry signals a cut throat motion and they stop. He can see Banje, the most popular beach in Dubrovnik, right in front of them, and he sighs happily at the prospect of cooling down in the sea. October’s been exceptionally warm, and so they can still take advantage of the turquoise water.

Harry’s panting next to him, hand pressed firmly right above his knees as he tries to get air to his lungs. Sweat’s dripping from his forehead and even his curls are wet, gathered in a bun at the back of his head. He’s a vision, his strong torso heaving and abs contracting with every breath. Louis is so fucking lucky.

‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, just, I was waiting for you to get tired,’ a deep breath, and Harry straightens up, bringing his arms above his head and then leaning forward, stretching and exhaling, ‘but you never did.’

Louis laughs, bright and clear. They are standing in the middle of a wild trail, a few steps from the sea. There’s nothing around them except trees and the sound of crickets, and his voice sounds higher than usual.  

He sometimes forgets he’s in better shape than Harry. His plan of running the marathon stopped being just a plan six months in when he ran the Milan marathon. Harry was there at the finish line, and he cried for ages after collapsing in his arms, tears of joy from finishing the long race and from seeing the love of his life meeting him there, when originally, trying to figure things out when Harry was missing was why he signed up for the training.

Since then he’s run four more, finishing the New York City marathon last November with all of his family and friends cheering him on and the whole office of Vogue hosting a giant surprise party at the finish line after the race was over, Niall at the DJ booth.

He’s been slowly getting Harry to go on bigger and longer runs with him, hoping at some point he will express his wish for them to one day run the race together.

They’ve got their whole lives to do that, really, so he’s in no rush.

‘I can’t believe I’m marrying a man who gets tired of running after only one hour and thirty six minutes. What spell did you put me under, Styles?’

Harry’s on the ground, legs in a straight line as he bends his torso over them and stretches, reaching his toes with his hands.

‘Well I’m marrying the guy who can’t properly stretch even though he’s run a million marathons by now, that’s who.’

Harry exhales one more time, and then gets up, enveloping him in a lazy kiss. They’re both sweaty and it should be revolting, the way the can taste the salt on their tongues from the droplets of sweat that come rushing into their mouths, but somehow it turns out domestic, and Louis can’t get enough of it.

When they part, Harry brushes his fringe from his eyes, and brings him closer with his hands on Louis’ back. ‘I’m also marrying the most hardworking, loyal, kindest, most beautiful man I’ve ever met.’

Harry kisses him on the nose, and his smile is so wide his face could split into two parts.

He’ll take Harry Styles sweaty, and smelly; in sickness and in health. He’ll take him any time and any way he can, for as long as he is allowed. He hopes he’ll have him forever.

‘Let’s go skinny dipping, maybe Niall catches us with one of those polaroid cameras from where he’s setting up, up there on the walls.’ He takes Harry’s arm in his and nudges him to start moving.

No matter how much he runs, he always needs to cool down after, and usually it’s with a walk, although a swim will do, too. Harry, on the other hand, spends his post-run minutes laying splayed over the pavements and roads like a starfish, or does weird yoga poses Louis can’t understand for the life of him. Harry can do his yoga in the water while he swims.

He’s a bit jumpy from having Harry’s sweaty body occasionally bump into his as they walk, his muscled torso so inviting, and the only thing he’s able to think about is how much he wants to nibble on Harry’s skin, and make him fall apart right there and then.

They slept in separate rooms last night, the both of them foolishly trying to follow tradition, even though they’re still not sure what tradition that is, exactly. So now he’s on edge, and quite possibly risking jumping on Harry at the altar in the middle of their wedding ceremony.

He keeps it to himself, doesn’t comment, just listens to Harry talk about how they should really have proper breakfast with their families before everyone starts getting ready.

They strip close to the place where the sea meets the sand since there’s quite a few people already skittered across the beach, and they run into the water like little kids, Harry screaming on the top of his lungs.

‘I’m not ending up on Page Six naked just because you can’t keep your inner Tarzan on the leash, Styles. Shut the fuck up,’ he launches himself on Harry when they’re in deep enough water, clinging onto him like a koala.

Harry’s smiling up at him, and he seems not to have been able to stop smiling ever since Louis popped the question six months ago. Louis scrunches his nose and leans in an Eskimo kiss, nuzzling their noses together, before their mouths meet and Harry throws his body back, bringing them both under the water, all the while never stopping kissing Louis.

Louis just smiles, already used to Harry so much he was anticipating underwater kisses. He closes his eyes and tries not to inhale through his nose, licking into Harry’s mouth.

His mouth stretches in a wide grin when his mind goes back to the night he asked Harry to be his husband.

_He’s been planning it for a month now, and the thing that scares him the most is not whether or not Harry is going to say yes, but how he is going to do it. It has to be big, and unforgettable, and just the right kind of crazy, and Louis wants it to be perfect. He wants to do it in New York, as it symbolizes the home they built together for the two of them, and he wants it to be at night, the lights of the city surrounding them as he asks Harry to be his forever. After countless days of sitting in his office pretending to be working while actually trying to figure out where and when and how, and run after run where he comes up with ideas and then discards them as not good enough, the idea comes to him.  It happens one night, when Harry picks him up in front of his office and they stroll around Manhattan together hand in hand, and his eyes roam around their surroundings, tall buildings everywhere and dreams coming true for so many people around them in every second of every day. The possibilities are countless in New York and he realizes impossible can be done here, and if there’s anyone who can make it happen it’s him._

_The next day and several calls later, in which he uses almost all the favours he has with the city’s leaders, he manages to get Empire State Building closed for one night for everyone except himself and Harry. He figures, go big or go home. And many calls after that, Jessica manages to get Harry’s favourite restaurant’s chef to agree to make them a meal and have it delivered on the rooftop of the building, because you always love better on a full stomach. ‘And make it seering hot, we’ll have our own waiters ready, thank you,’ he hears Jessica rattle off into the phone, and he cannot help but clap just once, for the brilliance._

_The day of the proposal Louis spends an hour in his office with Zayn having the time of his life mocking him while Louis tries to pick out a perfect outfit to wear. Much like the first time he went on a date with Harry, that first summer when Harry took him dancing, he wonders what could possible be good enough for a night like this, for Harry, when they’re always dressed impeccably anyway. In the end, he digs through his archive of garments that were too good to let go after just one season and that are on their way to vintage, and finds a beautiful double breasted Chanel blazer that makes his waist looks obscenely good and pairs it with a simple Marc Jacobs leopard print shirt in grey and black trousers. When he looks at himself in the mirror he knows he’s found the one, and even Zayn stops being bothered with social media to whistle, or at least try to whistle._

_(Louis' look:[shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ab51efd2d7536565882f9ce7d391b136/tumblr_nvqtoaVO0S1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [blazer](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e12b5cadf1fc88f7548c6f72f2a18a71/tumblr_nvqtoaVO0S1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

_‘If you popped the question now, I’d marry you. Just for that blazer,’ Zayn winks._

_‘I’ll keep that in mind if Harry bolts.’_

_Zayn stands up and wraps Louis in his arms, and sways them a bit, his hands making soothing motions on Louis’ back. ‘He looks at you like you’re all the Disney princesses mashed together, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Don’t worry, he’ll say yes.’_

_‘I know,’ he sighs happily._

_When he meets Harry, he’s changed from the Lanvin trousers he picked that morning after Louis woke him with a blowjob and they took a run together. He’s in a full runway look, the white Alexander McQueen suit looking perfect on him, his shoulders wide and his torso a perfect V-line down to his impossibly long legs._

_(Harry's look:[suit](https://40.media.tumblr.com/301df73394c378ca1ec90e100c8701ea/tumblr_nvqtr8wYx71tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

_Louis kisses him right there and then, in the middle of the street and with countless people around them, and there’s nothing better than having Harry be his for the world to know. He’s still not used to it, even after so long, and he feels the butterflies of happiness dance happily around his lungs._

_Despite being in the city for two years now, Harry has still never set foot inside the Empire State building, and his eyes go wide when the steward ushers them inside and onto the top floor._

_‘Isn’t this supposed to be crowded all the time?’ Harry asks as the elevator dings and the doors open to the empty rooftop, the city lights glistening all around them._

_‘I got them to close it for us tonight.’_

_Harry’s the most genuine person Louis has ever met, and his eyes are so big and sincere he almost drops to his knee and asks Harry to marry him right then, the dinner forgotten. The only thing that stops him is the waiter that comes that second and signals to follow him, the table placed on the side that overlooks the most beautiful part of the city, the lights beneath them making a sea of colors._

_They eat dinner and Harry makes Louis play footsie, and there’s nothing else Louis needs in his life at that point apart from Harry, and his job and his family and friends and this city he calls home. He’s finally got it right and once the dessert rolls in he’s a ball of energy and the anticipation rushes over him so he asks Harry to stand up and brings him to the railing, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and pressing his face into Harry’s hair, chin resting on Harry’s shoulder. Harry’s taller than him, but somehow they fit, the view in front of Louis the most beautiful thing his eyes have ever seen. He scoots as close as he can to Harry’s back and after a few moments of just breathing, there are words coming out of his mouth, words he hasn’t planned or even knows are stored in his brain._

_‘Harry,’ he mumbles, and Harry starts shifting in his arms to face him. ‘No, please stay the way you are, no need to look at me. Look at the city that we call ours and listen to the sound of it, and feel my heartbeat synchronized with yours. I don’t know if you’ve realized it by now but all of this isn’t really a coincidence, or just another dinner we are having. I know we both like pulling out the big guns on the most mundane of days and I love that about us, but this isn’t it. The truth is Harry, I asked you here today because you make me so happy I sometimes forget to breathe. Your eyes are the only thing that I need to look at to know everything will be fine when I have doubts and your arms are the only thing I need to shield me from storms that are to come. I love you so much Harry, and I love our life with every fiber of my being. I love waking up next to you, and running with you, or just coming back after a run knowing you’ll be there. I love the fact you made me stop ordering food in all the time and make me breakfast and you’ve installed a coffee machine in the kitchen so I stop drinking Starbucks twenty times a day. I love that you’re the most brilliant businessman and that you are also so much more than that, and I can’t stop being grateful for the fact you wore that gold blazer the first time I met you and you spilled that drink over me and made me never be able to forget you. I’m just, I’m in awe of the fact we found each other because I thought things like this didn’t get to happen to me, I thought there was no way people could have it all, and yet finding you I now have it all. I’ve conquered the world and all of my dreams came true. You’ve made me realize I need to work on myself, you’ve made me find a better me inside of myself. I’m in awe of you, I’m in awe of us and the life we have, and what I’m saying here, quite unsuccessfully if I may add is, that I want it to be forever. I want you to be my forever.’ He tugs on Harry’s hand to make him turn around, and Harry’s crying already, fat tears escaping his eyes. He’s so beautiful Louis might cry too. He drops to his knee, and opens a box that contains a simple vintage platinum ring adorned with a line of turquoise, Louis’ birthstone. ‘Harry Styles, will you marry me?’_

_Harry looks at him for a few moments before he drops to his knees and utters a simple ‘yes’,  kissing him hungrily. They’re both crying by now, on the floor of the Empire State building and they’re getting married._

_‘You’ve ruined your suit, love. Never drop to your knees while you’re wearing white,’ he tells Harry when they finally get up to go back to dessert, linking his fiancee’s hand with his._

_Almost a week later at a Florence + The Machine concert in New York, Harry drops a chaste kiss to his cheek and excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving Louis singing alone with the crowd. Two songs later, How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful starts and Louis turns around, trying to spot Harry. This is his song that somehow became their song, and he’s not having Florence perform it without Harry by his side._

_What are we gonna do?_

_We've opened the door, now it's all coming through_

_Tell me you see it too_

_We've opened our eyes and its changing the view_

_Oh, what are we gonna do?_

_We've opened the door, now its all coming through_

_How big, how blue, how beautiful_

_How big, how blue, how beautiful_

_And every city was a gift_

_And every skyline was like a kiss upon the lips_

_And I was making you a wish_

_And every skyline_

_And meanwhile a man was falling from space_

_And every day I wore your face_

_Like an atmosphere around me_

_I'm happy you're beside me_

_Florence stops singing after that and laughs, her angelic voice ringing in Louis’ ears as he squints to see why she interrupted the song. ‘I’m sorry, ahhh, I’ve, I’ve got a special thing to do today. One of my friend’s friends is here today with us and he’s kindly asked me to stop in the middle of this song, with just the instrumental going behind,’ and Louis hears the sounds of trumpets and the orchestra now, the end of the song repeating over and over again as she talks. ‘And I’ll, yeah, I’ll just let him take over right now,’ she motions for someone off stage to come up and then Harry’s climbing the stage, terror and panic on his face making a way for the smile to take over._

_And, oh, Louis was not anticipating that._

_He takes the microphone from the singer after hugging her and then brings it to his lips, his deep raspy voice filling the room. ‘Hi everyone, and thank you Florence for doing this. You must be all wondering what I’m doing here, this random overdressed man you may have seen in The Times interrupting this concert,’ and the crowd is laughing as Harry combs a hand through his hair, smiling wide. ‘Well, I’m sorry. Actually, I’m not really, this is kind of a big thing for me so I hope you forgive me in the end, but I’m not really sorry for what I’m about to do.’ Harry’s eyes are skimming through the room, and Louis knows he’s trying to find him so he waits until their stares find each other, and then he’s grinning at Harry, mouthing a ‘What are you doing’, and that’s apparently all Harry needs to keep talking. ‘You see, I’m here with my boyfriend, he’s there,’ and Harry points to him, and great, they are ending up on every front page tomorrow, ‘and he’s the biggest fan of Florence, bigger than anyone. I think the whole office of Vogue by now knows Florence’s albums by heart,’ he laughs and the audience laughs too, and Louis is mortified. ‘And this song is his favourite, and somewhere along the road it started being my favourite too. I realized the title was a beautiful characterization of Louis, too, you know with how big he is, not physically obviously, but how big of an influence and character and most of all a person he is. And then there’s how blue, how blue his eyes are, like looking in the ocean, you get lost in his eyes in a second. And finally, how beautiful. Well, he’s the most beautiful, the most beautiful person ever.’ Harry smiles at him, and Louis might never forgive him this. ‘Louis Tomlinson, I had this plan in motion for ages now, contacted Florence and made this happen and was only waiting for the day of the concert to come, and then you go and fuck it all up last week when you proposed to me. So this is kind of redundant, but my heart told me to still do it, to still ask you, so I’m asking here, even though you already asked me and I already said yes, will you marry me?’_

Harry brings them back to surface and he takes a quick breath before he kisses Harry hungrily, sucking on his bottom lip and tasting the salt on his tongue.

‘I’m the happiest man alive,’ Harry tells him when they part, and he mutters a silent ‘Me too’ before leaving Harry to the shallow waters and rushing to get his much-needed swim. He was just about to get hard and they promised to wait until tonight and if there’s something Louis honors it’s promises, so he grabs the water with his arms with too much force and focuses on breathing and the fact he can see the bottom of the sea as he swims instead of thinking about choking on Harry’s dick.

Niall brings them towels and calls them monsters when they finally decide to get out of the water and then they’re all rushing to get some food into their stomachs. The hotel terrace is empty except for their guests. Their closest friends and family, and way too many people from the fashion industry. It’s funny seeing Kate Moss and Alexa Chung mingle with his mom, and Niall flirting with Harry’s cousins in his full-on famous mode, but somehow it all fits. It’s all their little universe.

They eat their breakfast and then they go for massages and then they eat their lunch and basically he’s just kissing Harry the whole day with Zayn screaming at various people in the background.

Louis thinks it’s more Zayn’s wedding than his, really, the whole thing completely out of Louis’ hands. When Louis proposed, the first thing Zayn told him after was that he was having nothing to do with the ceremony or the planning.

‘I called it, I fucking called it that day in the car. And I’m doing it, it’s mine. I am the editor-in-chief of this wedding and I’m picking everything. It’s going to be a Vogue wedding, and I know, you want it all white and grande and a strict dress code, and Harry will want the best food, but none of that oyster shit, I’m not listening to people suck anything at such an occasion.’

So Louis let him, and it’s the best decision he’s ever made. On his wedding day he gets to relax and sit next to Harry at the stairs of the city walls, right under the sun, and they’ve got an overview of almost the whole city in front of them. Zayn managed to get the city completely closed-off for the wedding and there’s nobody but their entourage wreaking havoc for the last few days. Jessica’s been swamped with calls from people from New York asking why weren’t they invited ever since the whole Vogue staff started posting photos of the wedding preparations on Instagram.

He laughs when he spots Zayn, Jessica and Sabine walking around, and he’s carrying a notepad and his phone in the other hand while firing orders to everyone who crosses their path. The whole place is coming to life, flowers upon flowers being installed from the hands of the people who usually make Dior’s runways. Zayn got everyone involved in the process of making this happen, from the city officials of Dubrovnik, to Beyonce and Jay Z for the afterparty. The wedding is also going to be the one with the most photographers, almost all the contributors to Vogue present and equipped with their cameras to capture the special moment.

Louis is impressed, and he tells Harry so after he takes a sip of his strawberry lemonade.

‘I think Zayn will never ask to make executive decisions after this in his whole life,’ Harry laughs and points to the man in question, now trying to get one of the local workers to move the flower installations to where they need to be. ‘Look, he’s sweating so badly. He will probably fall asleep before this is all over.’

‘Well, he did ask for it.’

Louis was the one who chose the location, and Harry was in charge of picking the date and they chose the guest list together, managing to get it down to two hundred people with many nights spent hunched over the names and trying to figure out who to cross off when they started with as many as eight hundred.

And then there was the question of the suits. First completely overlooked, as Zayn screamed that they would both wear Tom Ford and that’s that, no discussion, but then they were laying in bed one rainy Sunday morning and Harry was tracing irreconcilable patterns on Louis’ skin when he asked: ‘But what if we chose our own suits, I choose yours and you choose mine?’

So now it’s his wedding day and he’s got no idea what he’s wearing and somehow he’s fine with it. He’s a changed man.

The ceremony is planned for the early evening, and Zayn insisted they do the exchange of vows on the great walls of city, with the sea stretching endlessly on one side and the city on the other. They get dressed together, each bringing their chosen suit for the other and watching the magic come to life as they button the blazers and straighten the legs of their trousers.

Louis’ mom is already sobbing next door, and Louis laughs as he opens the garment bag of the black suit Harry brought for him. Harry’s waiting for his reaction and Louis can tell he forgot to breathe given there’s not a single sound in the room.

‘Fuck, is this, did you find a Givenchy suit for me?’ He looks over at Harry as he takes a single breasted black blazer with wide lapels and a beautiful deep v-line in his hands.

‘I wanted to find something that’s completely you. And Givenchy is yours. it’s as fierce as you and I know how much you love it.’ Harry’s bouncing on his feet as he talks, helping Louis to get the trousers and the shirt out of the garment bag. He produces a simple black bowtie from and a pair of pearl cufflinks, putting it on the bed next to the suit. ‘And you know how their collections are, not really black tie material. But then I remembered Tisci did that capsule collection once with like three suits in it so I called him, asked if he could make this one for you and yeah, that’s how it happened.’

Louis really, really loves him.

‘Now my story will sound completely dumb but, I just went to the archives of Hermes and found this suit. It’s from 2012 and they never produced it, it was just featured on the runway. It’s one of a kind, and I checked the measurements and it should fit perfectly, we adjusted the hem to the suits you own.’

He unpacks his choice for Harry, the slim fit jacket with two buttons and the matching trousers, and a simple black bowtie. The suit is classic, and timeless, and everything Louis wants their wedding to be, and he knows Harry will look perfect in it.

Harry’s beaming at him when he sees it and he runs his hands over the smooth fabric, and then brings it to his face and inhales the scent.

‘We got it dry cleaned, you psycho,’ Louis laughs at him and he really is marrying a complete idiot.

Harry pouts, as if that’s the worst news he’s heard all day, and then kisses him properly, inhaling Louis’ scent instead.

‘You know, this could have turned out catastrophic, and yet it’s perfect,’ he murmurs into the skin behind Louis’ neck when they part.

‘I know, kinda sums us up pretty well, right?’

The suits look even better once they put them on, and what’s the most important they look good together.

_(Harry's look:[suit](https://41.media.tumblr.com/12582df851d78431403a039b7f12b685/tumblr_nvqtukGXPo1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

_(Louis' look:[suit](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3e47671a73d730f57e53dd25ccce205f/tumblr_inline_nvkb2cNCa91sf1zml_540.jpg))_

_(Manip by lovely Leah -[link to tumblr](http://stylinsinz.tumblr.com/))_

He gets Harry’s cufflinks on and gets the last of their preparations done, their room soon filled with make up artists and hair stylists doing last minute alterations and his mom moving rooms so she’s now crying in front of him, gushing over how dashing they look together.

He makes funny faces at Harry the whole time and Harry makes sure to get him some chocolate before they go because he knows the sugar will calm him down.

The time moves faster that day, faster than any other in Louis’ life. Everyone gets ushered out of the room by Zayn who’s looks breathtaking in a white Givenchy suit, and it’s only a few kisses and promises later that he’s back to take them to the walls.

_(Zayn's look:[suit](http://www.oystermag.com/sites/default/files/images/givenchy_001_1366.450x675.jpg))_

When Louis cocks an eyebrow at the white suit, he throws his hands in the air, spraying Chanel over all three.

‘Well somebody had too, and I see no bride here!’

There’s loud chirping noise coming from Zayn’s pocket and soon after, Niall and Liam show up, both looking extraordinary. They’re smiling so big, both of them, and Liam hands Zayn a tissue when tears start escaping his eyes all of a sudden.

‘You know guys, I’m very happy for you. I will probably make a very drunk, very good speech that will end up on every social media account later, but just for the five of us, the five mighty ones, our little group,’ Zayn walks over to one of the tables and brings over the champagne tray, each of them taking a glass. ‘I wanted to have our own toast, and say how happy I am you found your own happy ending. We’re all at the top of our game, and here’s to many more dinners and parties and you guys being overly adorable for years to come.’

He’s properly sobbing now, and once he’s done a hiccup escapes him, and all five of them laugh, clinking their glasses.

The three of them leave in a rush to take their places at the table closest the altar and it leaves Louis and Harry to walk slowly from their hotel across the wide main streets towards the steps leading up to the walls currently holding all of their loved ones.

Harry takes out his phone as they stand in the usually crowded square, waiting for a twenty-four piece orchestra to start playing, their queue to start walking.

‘What do you say we capture this properly just for us two?’ he holds the phone up, the ancient walls and the marble floor of the square stretching for miles behind them. Louis smiles, wide and proud, dropping a kiss to Harry’s cheek. They take one, and then two, and then a dozen photos, alternating from just smiling to full-on kissing. They take a few of each other, Louis stretching his arms on the sides like a bird and Harry twirling around the empty square, and they ask the steward to take a couple of photos of them just hugging in the empty square, just the two of them.

Countless photos and days later, once it’s all done and they’re sitting at home, browsing through the wedding memories, the photos Harry took with his phone will be the ones that shine the brightest.

The orchestra starts playing silently and it’s barely there, Ed Sheeran’s voice dominant as he sings the opening lines of Photograph. Louis holds Harry’s hand tightly, smiling at him as they start climbing the stairs. The orchestra crescendoes as they navigate the walls, and he can see the sea of people sitting at the long white tables, and thousands of flowers pinned into the walls that stand lined up behind the tables, making the whole place looking like a fairy tale. Droplets of fairy lights are floating in the air above the people, already lit up, and the sound of the waves interrupts the song in the most beautiful way.

_So you can keep me_

_Inside the pocket_

_Of your ripped jeans_

_Holdin' me closer_

_'Til our eyes meet_

_You won't ever be alone_

_Wait for me to come home_

_Loving can heal_

_Loving can mend your soul_

_And it's the only thing that I know (know)_

_I swear it will get easier_

_Remember that with every piece of you_

_And it's the only thing we take with us when we die_

_We keep this love in this photograph_

_We made these memories for ourselves_

_Where our eyes are never closing_

_Our hearts were never broken_

_Time’s forever frozen still_

They’ve still got a few steps to go before they reach the white carpet that’s placed in between the two main tables that seat their closest friends and family, and Louis is already a mess just from how beautiful it looks, and the fact this is not just a dream, or a project or a shoot, but real life, and his life on top of that. A life where he gets to marry his greatest love above the sea under the fairy lights and surrounded by flowers.

He looks over at Harry, and he can see his eyes are watery too, and somehow they still manage to walk the line and get to the altar without tripping. They get handed monogrammed handkerchiefs as they stand facing each other and he dabs his eyes, not wanting to miss a moment of this. The officiant is talking about how they’re gathered here, and he looks deep into Harry’s eyes and just smiles, as wide as it goes, squeezing Harry’s fingers with his palms, not even able to stand properly still. The music in the background is quiet and beautiful, and he focuses on the way the wind plays with Harry’s hair that’s loose on his shoulders, and the way Harry’s eyes are sparkling under the fairy lights strewn across the air above them.

The officiant then asks them both to declare their intent, and Harry’s the first to go, the corners of his lips quirking up in a smile. Harry says ‘I do’, with determination in his voice and passion in his eyes, and then it’s Louis turn and he says it faster and surer than ever before. Harry nods to him, crying again, and he turns his head for a slight moment to see his mom and Harry’s mom crying silently in each other’s arms, and Zayn blinking rapidly, fighting back tears, next to Liam and Niall, both holding up their polaroid cameras and sniffing loudly.

The love he can feel in the air is contagious, and it’s everywhere. He clears his throat and looks back to Harry, not sure what he’s going to say as his plans to write his vows ended up with almost twenty different drafts, each going in a different direction. He abandons them all and decides to speak from the heart, drawing his inspiration from the green of Harry’s eyes and the warmth of his hands nestled in Louis’.

‘Harry Styles, I am so happy today. I’m going to cut this short because I already made a big speech when I proposed you and I made one two years ago when I thought I’d lost you too, so I think we’re over those already,’ he starts, and Harry cackles loudly as he takes a breath. ‘I am so happy today to be here and to be with you, as you make every memory a thousand times more worthy of saving. I am happy, and I can’t see myself ever being unhappy by your side and that’s all it takes for me to place all of my stakes in this great gamble that is life on the two of us.’ He pauses, gathering his thoughts for a second.

‘People think a partner, a soulmate has to be your perfect fit. Everyone is looking for their missing puzzle piece, when in reality, a true soulmate is your mirror, somebody who comes into your life and shows you everything that’s holding you back. A soulmate isn’t your opposite or your replica, it’s someone who mirrors you and brings you to you, who makes it possible for you to change your life. And that’s what you did for me, and what you keep doing for me, Harry. You’re my mirror, and you make me better in every possible way. I love you, and I cannot imagine ever not loving you.’

Harry’s eyes are waterfalls by now, and he’s nodding fiercely, as if trying to say how much he agrees with him. It takes him a moment to calm down enough before he speaks again, and his voice is raspy when he does, making Louis want to skip the rest and just kiss him senseless forever.

‘Louis, when I first met you, it feels like eternity and yesterday at the same time really, I was in such awe of you, I thought I couldn’t even speak to you properly. Two years later and nothing’s changed apart from the fact that I’ve managed to see it’s not just how I see you, but also how you see me. It’s a very powerful thing when someone sees you as the person you aspire the be, as the person you wish you were. And that’s what you give me, time and time again. You show me I’m not just this or just that, I see in your eyes how you see me and I believe you, and that makes me powerful, that makes me strong. I wanted to tell you how I see you today, but it’s not such an easy task. You can’t describe someone you love. When you love someone they are everything, not just a few words thrown together. They’re so much and no sentence, no string of words will ever be enough. So instead of that, I would just like to say that I love you, and that I plan on loving you for as long as you will let me, Louis, because we, we are beyond our time for now and always.’

They grin to each other to the sounds of sobs from the audience, and then Ed is joined by Christina Perri to sign Be My Forever.

_We're on top of the world_

_We're on top of the world_

_Now darling, so don't let go_

_Can I call you mine?_

_So can I call you mine now, darling_

_For a whole lifetime?_

_My heart finally trusts my mind_

_And I know somehow it's right_

Instead of rings, they decided on the custom-made platinum love bracelets from Cartier that once put on can only be taken off by a person who holds the key. The inscription on the bracelets is the coordinates of Dubrovnik, nothing more, and just enough. Once they put their bracelets on, they each give the keys to each other and throw them down into the sea. They won’t need them anyway.

Louis is so happy when his eyes meet Harry’s that he wouldn’t mind this day being his last on Earth. He counts this right here amongst his biggest accomplishments. He counts this right here as the start of their forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured since it's the last chapter I might as well fly them to a location that I personally think is one of the most beautiful in the world. I hope the descriptions and the photos help you envision it, there's also [a great clip from Game Of Thrones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PN63bg_OSL0)and it shows beautifully the city where Louis and Harry get married.  
> Once again, thank you for reading & don't forget to drop by for a chat on tumblr!  
> The link to the fic post on tumblr [HERE](http://otpwhatever.tumblr.com/post/130559025774/completed-read-here-thank-you-for-the-most)  
> Come talk to me [HERE](http://otpwhatever.tumblr.com/ask)  
> 


	11. Outfit List

**CHAPTER 1**

‘Even though he looks somewhat tired, his lips lacking the usual crispy peach color, the electric blue of his Hermes suit still makes him stand out in the crowd’

_(Louis' look:[suit](http://media.style.com/image/fashion-shows/fall-2015-menswear/paris/hermes/collection/1366/2048/HER_0821.jpg))_

‘He’s dressed in this season’s resort Saint Laurent. One might add it was to his favour, the way the skinny trousers cling to his long legs. They run a tad too short, with the hem undone the same kind as shown on the runway a few weeks ago. He’s wearing a clash of monk straps and creepers. Daring is the only word that comes to Louis’ mind once he realizes Harry decided to throw on the gold blazer that closed the show into the equation.’

_(Harry's look:[trousers ](http://media.style.com/image/fashion-shows/spring-2016-menswear/paris/saint-laurent/collection/1366/2048/_A2X1130.jpg)/ [blazer](http://40.media.tumblr.com/45c69a3379a42d527803e569c75748a7/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo4_250.jpg))_

‘As soon as the car comes to a halt, Louis makes quick work of grabbing his Burberry umbrella sitting next to him. His movements swift but ever so silent, he picks up the customized Gucci bag he received just yesterday, matte black with LT engraved in between where handles meet the boxy exterior. His Coach shoes are black, not matte but not shiny either, and so is the Givenchy leather jacket covering his shoulders like second skin. He opted for Burberry pants with embroidered flowers in various shades of beige that cling to his ass so perfectly it seems they were designed for the sole purpose of Louis strolling powerfully around New York City in them.’

_(Louis' look:[jacket](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d426c6c73df699747af93920ec982084/tumblr_inline_ns9uq86daC1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘He is going floral today, Givenchy botanical blossom print sandals on his feet. The black sweater Sabine has brought from the McQueen headquarters this morning smelling of cut grass and sitting fresh on his Eau De Blue. Gucci leather pouch, check. Margiela aviators, check.’

_(Louis' look:[sandals ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/27addc1c3a92096f7c8ca00b06a78cd1/tumblr_inline_ns9uzhGHSQ1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/af382ee026a288494c8805d18f72a943/tumblr_inline_ns9v2pag0J1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [bag](https://40.media.tumblr.com/47b3763a23420daaa377a8fdf8d783ea/tumblr_inline_ns9v4kJR6V1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘Harry has ditched his Versace look from earlier for a Lost and Found white shirt with the hem running almost to his knees and Rick Owens black asymmetric shorts peeking out from underneath. His Birkenstock-clad feet are gently nudging Niall’s hipbones while the DJ snaps selfie after selfie of the three of them, Liam lurking in the background, clearly accustomed to the whole concept.’

_(Harry's look:[ shirt /](http://41.media.tumblr.com/a8039712ab92bc8f9525fef0c46c8a8a/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo1_500.jpg) [shorts](http://41.media.tumblr.com/ac3f37ffed4ce88a74d8c80e6e0033a4/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo3_250.jpg))_

‘Harry’s wearing a vintage Comme Des Garcons rock and roll printed blazer when they see each other in passing the lobby of the Ritz, the night in full swing but for Louis it’s bed time while Harry is about to head out.’

_(Harry's look:[blazer)](http://41.media.tumblr.com/674ca9eb44e24a21e8e04a1ef1c58ef2/tumblr_nsan60kOA31rlvp5oo2_1280.jpg)_

‘No bag, get me that Saint Laurent necktie scarf, and Jimmy Choos. The chocolate-colored turtle pattern.’

Fifteen minutes later, elevators doors are closing behind them, Louis tramping behind Zayn in a dark blue speckle suit that looks like the night sky.

_(Louis' look:[suit ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/97ab680cb316d263e0aadb22f57cb23f/tumblr_inline_ns9ve1ItLx1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/348fc8abf51d8f0ebe53145d2944dd52/tumblr_inline_ns9veeGOOJ1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘Dressed in a black suit and a crisp white shirt, he replaced a pocket square with a rose the shade of a flamingo and his hair is in firm braids spreading from his scalp to the back of his head where his neck begins. On his feet is a pair of nude Adidas Supercolor sneakers.’

_(Harry's look:[suit ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f1ad1218119e41ff2ccfc6748eec1a30/tumblr_inline_ns9viqWBZn1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [sneakers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/c4bb921fc925b8cb66b17d814574b5de/tumblr_inline_ns9vjlYEDE1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘He’s in all white, the only brush of color coming from the collar of his shirt. He’s sporting linen trousers and they look exquisite, finishing just right around the ankles. You cannot see any bare skin, however, as there is a pair of bright white high-top Converse at Niall’s feet. His sunglasses are polarized and are throwing off various shades of green. He blends in, even though Louis knows the man usually wears nothing but jeans and random monochrome shirts. DJs don’t tend to care about fashion a lot. Louis is glad Niall has Harry to guide him.’

_(Niall's look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a178b55a75b0c29813fc578b773c4cbf/tumblr_inline_ns9vlr69971sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/cc68a7696d7e1975e4dd51972fcf8438/tumblr_inline_ns9vlz4cQQ1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 2**

‘Zayn climbs the chair next to him, and the denim overall stretches over his petite body so you can almost see the outline of his thigh muscles.

Zayn is crazy and driven, sometimes going overboard with ideas. However, he’s got an eye like no other, and he’s the only one Louis can see pulling off long-sleeve full body denim suit for front row Chanel. He didn’t bother with accessories, as Zayn usually doesn’t care about those, letting clothes speak volumes, but he’s wearing  McQueen monk strap leather boots in cognac and they pop, matching his eyes. He’s a vision.’

_(Zayn's look:[denim overalls](https://40.media.tumblr.com/e6db4552e39c43764b3da0af126f0183/tumblr_inline_nsll6pV6YV1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/ba7c352509f3b8eff2d8a5dd6b5cf187/tumblr_nsll6wudlC1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

‘Today he’s opted for combat cargo shorts with leaves painted on and a white tank top with a wide scoop neck. Louis can tell he’s heavily tattooed even with the black Saint Laurent shirt covering his arms. He’s got the sleeves rolled up all the way to his elbows and his left wrist is littered with woven leather-wrap bracelets in black and brown, while the right one houses only a silver-tone anchor bracelet. Louis can tell it’s Lanvin because he has the same one. He’s not sure what to make of it.

The combat boots on his feet are Margiela. Louis wonders if Harry really does wear at least one piece of clothing from the designer whose show he is attending. Louis cannot stop himself from smiling at how adorable he is.’

_(Harry's look:[shorts ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/2ffd1cbb963054fd8fadbe8dcfb30aae/tumblr_nslm60Nxv91tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/85e5a81eb0b4e6e4c58f20e89e85bf56/tumblr_inline_nsllmfgQkR1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [boots ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bae0966447a014b6910d1f4e65b5fb9d/tumblr_inline_nsllv7BYFo1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [fedora](https://40.media.tumblr.com/a30c8c24bbad802b4a2f833d20075886/tumblr_inline_nslm5v2tUx1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [bracelet](https://41.media.tumblr.com/48d84f739ca7c93d61fae8af3a571c71/tumblr_inline_nsllm6o7r41sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘The suit is sharp, pants cut so his legs look longer, the black fabric falling perfectly around his legs. The jacket is a masterpiece with black lapels forming a stark contrast to the reflecting silver seashell print. When he closes the button his waist looks obscenely thin opposed to his full hips, like an hourglass. Louis opts for a black butterfly bow tie with rich silver embroidery on the wings and puts on an all black Larsson & Jennings watch for good measure.’

_(Louis' look:[suit ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/1ded8eaa7ba436185f9fa41b2c3dd42c/tumblr_nslmkzTWdY1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [bow tie ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/cb605dafbeebfe8bd6ef203cbbfba214/tumblr_nslmn3plRt1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [shoes ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0bc23a69c62de6bd62a93f607fbf8ed5/tumblr_inline_nslmifUPYf1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [watch](https://41.media.tumblr.com/cbaf7acd423a41e351d90615e31e226f/tumblr_inline_nslmitzQ4p1sf1zml_540.png))_

‘She hands him her iPhone, already displaying Zayn posing in a lame green suit with tiny neon clovers printed neatly all over. The camo print T-shirt is dark blue and black, a size too big for him, and he tucked up the front into the trousers. His waist is bound to draw eyes, looking delicate yet racy. He’s got a black scarf tied in his hair, the knot at the back of his head and the silk falling down his back. On his feet are calfskin monk shoes with a thick rubber sole.’

_(Zayn's look:[shirt](https://41.media.tumblr.com/dba247ecd0c277eabf315854702d1b25/tumblr_nslmzamOxk1tawb72o1_400.jpg) / [pants](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a305ada58218a321fc94dabf40bed8ae/tumblr_inline_nslmz4pSnc1sf1zml_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a2530cc4206f8e51cbf8ea460a7ccd19/tumblr_inline_nslmyrdPLm1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘It’s a perfect setting for Louis’ dark butterfly print suit. He’s wearing a black tank top underneath the blazer, the scoop neck running so low it’s not even showing when he closes the button of the jacket. The pants run a bit on the tight side, falling perfectly and he looks like a vision, the blue bringing out his eyes.’

_(Louis' look:[suit 1](https://41.media.tumblr.com/028bc71e4b4c85a3b59f2368edd40366/tumblr_nsln58gVrv1tawb72o1_400.jpg) / [2](https://40.media.tumblr.com/dbb00ae5762409680e11a1401be4c7af/tumblr_nsln5oXdMx1tawb72o1_540.jpg)) (Louis' look: [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d3c6ec1800ae5e76cf7de18e5ae379ed/tumblr_nslni8tSyL1tawb72o1_400.jpg))_

‘The shirt he’s wearing is stiff and white, and he’s thrown over a khaki blazer that’s just sitting on his shoulders, sleeves hanging on the sides. His tattooed arms work nicely with the overall demure vibe. The shorts he’s thrown on dismantle the preppy image completely, his long legs prolonged by the heeled booties and flowers on his feet.’

_(Harry's look:[shirt and blazer ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/28d720d3e1b9dfbe56bf3f7dc5ab4911/tumblr_nslnf2w0TU1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shorts ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ea903acffbeeeff610f07fb7ad3a3b3f/tumblr_ns2b0iwq0R1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [boots](https://41.media.tumblr.com/52f785f063f21833bd047cfc64d940f0/tumblr_inline_nslndvwA251sf1zml_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 3**

‘The Neil Barrett black trousers have a felt side stripe lining on the outsides of the leg and he’s paired them with a lightweight Acne sweater that says ‘Gender Equality’ written in bold, white letters across the torso. He’s tired and cranky and in Louis Tomlinson world that means sneakers, Valentino leather low tops that have a green stripe across the vamp. He’s smart not to wear any accessories to the airport so there’s only a Proenza Schouler PS1 XL backpack slung over his left shoulder.’

_(Louis' look:[sweater](https://40.media.tumblr.com/05c3ed00f97fee3cf7d1a8cdc8db161b/tumblr_nss5xiyRX21tawb72o1_500.jpg) / [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/28740586651e4db953bd9aefa76f4a9e/tumblr_inline_nss5x2MdB51sf1zml_540.jpg) / [sneakers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/bc720299f082bc5a6b75fbe10d55d68a/tumblr_inline_nss5wtqVOZ1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [backpack](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4878ec0966d567b365a34cd540e1f11e/tumblr_inline_nss5xdqpd01sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘The jet lag is kicking him hard, and he feels like he’s moving in slow motion when switching the jumper for a sleek black shirt that hugs him perfectly and he throws a deep blue Balmain military blazer over it.’

_(Louis' look:[blazer](https://41.media.tumblr.com/84695ee4ba44d7a34bdab7999a3c3233/tumblr_nss60lU06p1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

_(Zayn's look:[gilet and pants](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f29e699987036fdbd384862d74dd5a96/tumblr_nss6eyJNz51tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [tank top](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/zanerobe-flintlock-marble-tank-top-item-11058238.aspx?storeid=9058&ffref=lp_56_6_) / [shoes](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/giuseppe-zanotti-design-studded-slippers-item-11082344.aspx?storeid=9436&ffref=lp_59_16_))_

‘Louis puts on a slim fit white cross print shirt and classic tailored trousers in black, and puts chelsea boots in shiny black leather with a slightly pointed toe and silver-studded sole.

He gets up in search of a jacket and a bag, opting for a classic leather biker and a leather briefcase, both impeccable Givenchy design, too.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/givenchy-cross-print-shirt-item-11082279.aspx?storeid=9672&ffref=lp_65_55_) / [trousers](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/givenchy-classic-tailored-trousers-item-11092148.aspx?storeid=9383&ffref=lp_160_2_) / [boots](http://www.farfetch.com/pt/shopping/men/givenchy-studded-chelsea-boots-item-11086121.aspx?storeid=9475&ffref=lp_12_71_) / [jacket](http://www.mrporter.com/en-hr/mens/givenchy/zip-off-sleeves-leather-biker-jacket/493083) / [briefcase](http://www.mrporter.com/en-hr/mens/givenchy/leather-briefcase/565248))_

‘He’s sporting a quiff and a fresh outfit, switching up the stiff Givenchy trousers for Rag & Bone cotton shorts in charcoal. He’s topped it off with a Saint Laurent western-looking denim shirt with leather patches on the shoulders and sleeves rolled up almost all the way up his elbows. There’s a Balenciaga creased leather bracelet in black wrapped around his wrist three times and he’s matched it with a thin Dolce & Gabbana belt made of black and grey calf hair. He’s wearing Arizona matte brown sandals from Birkenstock on his feet.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt](https://41.media.tumblr.com/cb50144338c4ad1aee36851727275000/tumblr_nss6m4ANRq1tawb72o1_500.jpg) / [shorts](https://40.media.tumblr.com/b4b5e42a8490e6cb1a7dfb21fcf757d5/tumblr_inline_nss6l2B1w91sf1zml_540.jpg) / [bracelet](https://41.media.tumblr.com/661d584ae344eee312b50816e008b35a/tumblr_inline_nss6lxfKSh1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [belt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/322481ad17d3088bf1f34d42f41582b4/tumblr_inline_nss6lautxR1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [sandals](https://41.media.tumblr.com/21a4b372bcb6b21efcbb4342ce2cc0d7/tumblr_inline_nss6liDrAZ1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘Louis turns his torso so he can follow him as Harry mingles his way through the crowd, his ass looking tight in magenta silk trousers. His back forms a perfect V in the Balmain flower-print T shirt in burgundy and he’s wearing Gucci black leather sandals. There’s a Hublot chronograph black watch on his left hand and an array of platinum rings on his right.’

_(Harry's look:[shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/39486319f8a5b8bea2e2735ade41f77e/tumblr_inline_nss6pjSP2O1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [trousers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9d48d761c8a35898caa39ea0079db57c/tumblr_nss6q8arNC1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [watch](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d23d5b1fb83e8b3b0dd60fdc08b047c5/tumblr_inline_nss6pwqfnv1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘So he lets himself take advantage of it, choosing black leather Saint Laurent skinny trousers with silver zippers lined up over leggings in the front. He’s paired it with a simple black ribbed, almost see-through top and a black Raf Simons sleeveless duster coat. He puts on a pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots with a silver buckle to tone it all down.

When he looks himself in the mirror, he looks hot, the trousers making his legs look toned and long and the duster coat drawing attention to his tattooed arms.’

_(Louis' look:[trousers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d75ee3532cacd0cefc88309a7ab179f8/tumblr_inline_nss6ynwWZv1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [coat](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f1002d33d6a54b752704f09f680afd45/tumblr_nss6yv7KeQ1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [boots](https://41.media.tumblr.com/b7f6226acc240a7a64942539f72975d2/tumblr_nss6y6Ac7L1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘Louis couldn’t be more proud when he checks him out, his long legs on display as he’s wearing indigo Marc Jacobs shorts with tiny palm trees printed all over, a burgundy Burberry shirt unfastened all the way to the third button and a series of silver necklaces bundled around his neck. He’s wearing combat boots with a curved lacing by Yohji Yamamoto and a Jimmy Choo backpack in electric blue.’

_(Harry's look:[shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/842f8cc462f19d819f58896f5fa160d8/tumblr_inline_nss72tEvku1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [shorts](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d0024ef8133bdb321dcaf1dc2514e5e5/tumblr_inline_nss73a56hs1sf1zml_540.jpg) / [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/c2b01101e652dc2738e2d33af3ef24cb/tumblr_nss73o8Sjc1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [backpack](https://36.media.tumblr.com/d91a8c71cd3ea5c0df7fb47083bdb5cb/tumblr_inline_nss73lisec1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 4**

‘He’s got a Givenchy black shirt on, the silver metal studs working wonders on the soft cotton along the collar and shoulders. It’s tight on him, fitting his body nicely and he tucks it up in slim-fit jersey Lanvin trousers. He wouldn’t normally go for brogues in this scenario, chelsea boots a much better option, but he gives in when he thinks of the fact he will likely be dancing.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/dfe540cb7f247fdc2284d79bf2b804d1/tumblr_ntfwxzWsPY1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/abd30311898e4f871fec1a903b322fe7/tumblr_ntfwxzWsPY1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d6199ea499ab294b46cfe5a11d448f76/tumblr_ntfwxzWsPY1tawb72o2_500.jpg))_

‘An idiot who looks like he just came off the runway, the silk pants in burgundy with rich orange print details hanging loose of his toned legs. He’s wearing a white printed tank top on top of it, blotches of green and orange mixed together.’

_(Harry's look:[whole](https://41.media.tumblr.com/88995b5e2fc69913e77d1cc2fb65994c/tumblr_ntfx17MqXB1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘His pants stretch incredibly in white stripes over his legs, the bottom longer and wider than what’s the custom for today’s fashion but a slight step back from the full trapeze pants. With it goes an incredibly tight jersey shirt, the first three buttons popped off so there’s room for several necklaces in all lengths, dangling on his chest.’

_(Harry's look:[whole](https://40.media.tumblr.com/1e0c91c9b46bf18ce24b5e418adb6772/tumblr_ntfxiagPRv1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘It’s a fair statement, Louis’ figure an hourglass under the see-through mesh shirt. The wide sleeves come up just above his elbows, a black tank top underneath, making a contrast with the white, pearl-like applique strewn across the outer layer of fabric. His waist is framed with green soft textile, the trousers running slim in a cargo style and there are Costume National black chelsea boots on his feet, giving it a slight edge.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt and tank top](https://36.media.tumblr.com/e8b4473a4bb44dbbfd52a54502940ee0/tumblr_ntfxkvYV5A1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/88a6f0729516aab2af8652d61903cbb1/tumblr_ntfxkvYV5A1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://40.media.tumblr.com/c5d0a825f9aa1f912eeb3aaaa7ad2e33/tumblr_ntfxkvYV5A1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 5**

‘The cape is dark green, almost emerald with fringe in thick wool, and it’s thrown over what Louis has come to known as the exceptional tailoring of the house of Burberry. The suit Zayn picked is sapphire blue, a simple blazer with thin lapels and a sewn-in pocket on the left side. Zayn is not wearing a shirt underneath, and his chest looks amazing in the deep V-neck, his stomach hidden by the high-waisted trousers that hang loose on his slim body.’

_(Zayn's look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/8c84976e76881e59a8def453cf9ea909/tumblr_inline_nturrkzADW1sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘Today’s was an easy choice, a sweater with a loud Givenchy Paris print on it and the classic smooth leather jacket from the Fall collection. He went for jeans, not his first choice by any means but fitting in this scenario perfectly and giving it an edgy look, the ripped McQueen denim hanging loose on his hips. He rolled up the leggings so his ankles show, his feet clad in leather slip ons with a snarling Rottweiler print on the front that has become a synonymous with Riccardo Tisci's tenure at Givenchy.’

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/25a9b16df72aa90df2d770100f77a12b/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [leather jacket](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a245a97a0867f5713d57ae9c0b58437b/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [jeans ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d9c141ee4453394bfa360c2f4bd253d8/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o3_500.jpg)/[slip ons](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4cd0e4796e13db73e56af035f06b17d6/tumblr_nturvutknH1tawb72o4_500.jpg))_

‘Somehow Louis can see Harry picking the overalls Niall is wearing from the whole collection. They are black and simple, with white stitching and trousers wide. It makes Niall look crazy good, but it’s also a risk and that’s how Louis sees Harry’s style, if he had to put it in one sentence. The oversized navy striped silk shirt is covered by the overalls but gives the whole outfit a more polished effect and Louis can without a doubt say he’s impressed.’

_(Niall's look:[overalls ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3ed04a2c21ed363dc0e4a6840772525b/tumblr_ntus6tkLmz1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/4681ff1b8daf82b515faaeeb3b6f8a3a/tumblr_ntus6tkLmz1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He’s wearing leather pants that look painted on, and Louis never noticed how well-built Liam is before now, his muscles visible under the skin-hugging leather. He’s wearing a full runway look, and he has a blazer with inverted lapels over a buttonless cashmere shirt. Everything he’s wearing is black, and it looks strong and edgy, and Louis is just about to protest that he’s not wearing anything Givenchy to a Givenchy party, when he notices Liam has their floral black high top sneakers on his feet.’

_(Liam's look:[full ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/af027b13ca68462a22e6e0381d69f33a/tumblr_ntusczFSct1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/[sneakers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9470136f346ad45965e3694691569f6f/tumblr_ntusczFSct1tawb72o2_500.jpg))_

‘Zayn comes out of the closet soon, dressed in the tweed grey cropped trousers with ombre blue finish and a simple white tee with the distinct black Des Garcons pocket. He took Louis’ favourite lace up black Givenchy boots with white beading.’

_(Zayn's look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/3b4282861b71f4258e4873063de51cb4/tumblr_ntusfg5f6a1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/340246176a3e53970255cd754b05fbfb/tumblr_ntusfg5f6a1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/[boots](https://36.media.tumblr.com/d547e7ef6f85638bee3a4fd5e30ca6fb/tumblr_ntusfg5f6a1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘The pants are smooth around his legs, hugging him nicely but still not too tight, the length just right. He hasn’t worn a white shirt in a while, but this time it fits, giving space for the blazer to shine, a beautiful striped leather cognac finish. He ends up picking chain trim monk shoes with double straps and a white sole, just to take the edge off the stiffness of the suit.’

_(Louis' look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/745de3769eb26901a919699629ceeed7/tumblr_ntusv4PSi01tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘Harry’s standing on his left when they line up, tall and beautiful, in a black and white McQueen shirt with hands printed all over. He’s got it buttoned up all the way and burgundy trousers, looking like he walked out of an old Hollywood movie.’

_(Harry's look:[shirt ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e7691007f5af542564d2d3402ba9d177/tumblr_ntusxqDl9Z1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://36.media.tumblr.com/3b39c148ecbbd428b5c24121f7d7d8c4/tumblr_ntusxqDl9Z1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘Niall’s jovial, eyes crinkled, matching the Christopher Kane patterned shirt and pants. He’s already made a mess out of himself, moving in his seat, hands in the air, and voice matching Rihanna’s. He’s got a black lambskin buttoned biker jacket from Saint Laurent over it, and Givenchy’s classic black ankle boots on his feet.’

_(Niall's look:[full look](http://media.style.com/image/fashion-shows/fall-2015-menswear/london/christopher-kane/collection/1366/2048/Christopher_Kane_015_1366.jpg) / [jacket](http://cdn-images.farfetch.com/11/05/67/32/11056732_5098094_1000.jpg))_

‘He is in a sweater again, this time Balenciaga with printed silver waves over a dark grey background, and he’s got a reddish suede Bally jacket over it.’

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/070850c52034b2a1f5084159882175b0/tumblr_ntutfjXnzW1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [jacket](https://40.media.tumblr.com/5214a8cbecfc0be0d96c10debb7b9566/tumblr_ntutfjXnzW1tawb72o2_540.jpg)) (Louis' look for the show later: [coat](https://40.media.tumblr.com/dabb6dc2f58914b1b338de1a4c0695b6/tumblr_ntutgpqkhv1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘Louis laughs at that, nodding to Niall to take a seat. He takes off his Berutti camel bomber jacket, and he’s left in a McQueen black shirt with a printed lion door knocker on it. He looks like a true pop star, keeping his shades on.’

_(Niall's look:[jacket, trousers and boots ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/de0ac6d6e7f381899f807d868f91dfab/tumblr_ntutjulA7V1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/db0d4ca0280e0de879a9a5aeaf2e85ee/tumblr_ntutjulA7V1tawb72o2_500.jpg))_

‘The shows run long, Harry sneaking into Louis’ car before him and holding him for the few minutes it takes to get from one location to the other. He’s beautiful, dressed in Haider Ackermann, white shirt unbottoned all the way to his stomach and beige pants hugging him so tight, Louis can see a faint outline of his cock when he walks. He’s kept the scarf from the runway look and he feels snuggly when he hugs Louis, even though Louis is wearing a coat and he shouldn’t technically be able to feel Harry’s hands press into his chest.’

_(Harry's look:[full](https://40.media.tumblr.com/6d8781f8cda9c347dc01171fc39d76e6/tumblr_ntutm2RZQB1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 6**

‘He’s hunched over, checking something on his phone, in a green fluffy sweater and white trousers with delicate green embroidery.’

_(Harry's look:[sweater ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/bb55a2b1da4566815d52bab8018ee965/tumblr_nu9ncxSb4J1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/ba313fe5e5a7e9dea320687b44621f0a/tumblr_nu9ncxSb4J1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He takes a photo in the mirror, his red and black patterned sweater a contrast to the light grey chinos. On his feet are his favourite buckled brogue shoes from Church, the ones he wears when he has a lot to do and places to be.’

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/8e8a15fecf5468a7ba10ee6a002a8aba/tumblr_nu9nb5bb171tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [chinos ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/1d0b8a4bcdca6244a5b8cdd0927e222a/tumblr_nu9nb5bb171tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://36.media.tumblr.com/cafacd512f1e20c01900982f64de0d22/tumblr_nu9nb5bb171tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

‘He’s not once had to endure being seen in what looks like an almost identical outfit as someone else. And yet here he is, minutes before Prada starts, looking at Harry decked out in a long nude buttonless Carven coat, black leather ankle boots with a studded strap from Saint Laurent on his feet. Louis wants to punch him.’

_(Harry's look:[coat ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/0431aa1d0ce19bd0fcf5b8d4f0f6c8c4/tumblr_nu9n8uxVwB1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3ceb30731afe501bb34da9f4fe11726c/tumblr_nu9n8uxVwB1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He sits in the middle of the front row, and straightens his plain Saint Laurent black shirt and trousers, which are barely noticeable under his Givenchy nude coat with brown leather pockets, crossing his legs and staring straight ahead.’

_(Louis' look:[coat](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ff9b85bfdbbf7f790d08981a61df5483/tumblr_nu9n7toCFg1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

_(Harry's look:[cap ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4f98d7fcb4be3e4455dba8d7550dc65c/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [sunglasses ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f1f557787fccd603e2d945fc0de4fb58/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [shirt ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9bcbd087ab16b7f3d736b5e6d319feee/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o4_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/96a04157de0e576d8505e8d082775d21/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o5_540.jpg)/ [bag](https://36.media.tumblr.com/b2a38d220e3f1f42b874b2d87e1f359e/tumblr_nu9n4hZIYr1tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

‘His McQueen sweater is bundled around his waist, and he straightens it over his hips so the print of the lion’s head which displays over the front stands right, smoothing over the fabric of his black striped Ann Demeulemeester trousers.’

_(Louis' look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/a71cd8687ad38ebee4ffebd3466545ad/tumblr_nu9n27LYsy1tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/0c3296d20ec9313b2aab19470d133ab7/tumblr_nu9n27LYsy1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘His white crisp shirt is sleeveless and tight on him, and he buttons it all the way up. He tucks it into the black trousers that are hanging loose on his hips and all the way down his legs. They resemble cigarette pants, the crotch slightly dropped. Lastly, he adds the thin black suspenders, fastening them to the trousers.’

_(Louis' look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/93a7bcc4eaa042039d0109fc656fbdb8/tumblr_ntzsvjKfYO1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘They look somewhat funny together, Louis opting to not wear a jacket, only in a sleeveless shirt while Zayn is decked out in a knee-length black silk duster coat and a red and purple print scarf around his neck.

_(Zayn's look:[coat and trousers](https://40.media.tumblr.com/b861adac0b59008bd62be980efb7cfc4/tumblr_nu9myjXPrV1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [scarf](https://41.media.tumblr.com/b317eccdf3f422a72c5063f684d15478/tumblr_nu9myjXPrV1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

He’s a right candy, completely in Dolce & Gabbana, sweater falling loose on his shoulders, knitted in thick black and white irregular patterns that look like tiny blotches of snow on a black background. His trousers are also black with white embroidered flowers climbing up the leggings.

_(Liam's look:[full](https://36.media.tumblr.com/3a681baae1557fab695d78bf830efe40/tumblr_nu9mwnCC5K1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

He applauds silently to Harry who is, indeed, wearing a Haider Ackermann zebra coat, his shirt and trousers plain black and his boots silver.

_(Harry's look:[coat and boots](https://41.media.tumblr.com/43d1bc8ade6a25a52c1864525f93320b/tumblr_nu9mt1D1kV1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 7**

‘He turns to Zayn as soon as they leave the elevator. He seems taller than usual, wrapped in Acne’s scarf with Women Power print in big letters, and he’s wearing Alexander Wang’s lime-colored parka and matching black trousers. There’s leaves printed all over his body.’

_(Zayn's look:[full look ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/7b48449e79a3e573ebe814114cc59fdd/tumblr_nuywgqpWa11tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [scarf)](https://40.media.tumblr.com/55b95699eb6beeba5d5d566cbbfa59af/tumblr_nuywgqpWa11tawb72o1_540.jpg)_

‘His eyes hurt so bad this morning he had to go for glasses, and his Dior suit hugs him nicely, his legs looking toned and torso slim, but he knows it’s below his usual standard, the plain blue color something that he’d never be satisfied with on a normal day. It’s not even the suit, the Dior cut and execution perfect, but the fact he’s usually more brave and pushes himself to find new ways to dress.’

_(Louis' look:[suit ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f660fe4ff947b2d47161c8d0ce491f29/tumblr_nuywjgLera1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [sunglasses](https://41.media.tumblr.com/2b0c116b288c36143d23cc665c4a4874/tumblr_nuv3pk69EO1tawb72o1_500.jpg))_

‘After Dolce & Gabbana have shown the winter collection, Zayn insisted on ordering all of the sweaters from it. He wears them for a whole week, coming to the office day after day dressed solely in one disgusting sweater after another, yelling things like ‘I’m the queen’ when wearing a sweater with a big gold crown on it or ‘I’m a painting in a painting’ the day after when he’s dressed in red velvet with a small painting print in the middle.’

_(Zayn's look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/d7ab99c1d735746e635764fe495a956c/tumblr_nuywutsGRK1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4f103a02463c00a9b7a37e237e9ca55e/tumblr_nuywutsGRK1tawb72o2_500.jpg)/ [sweater](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bdd13a2f7313ce75397f206de825f449/tumblr_nuywutsGRK1tawb72o3_500.jpg))_

‘Louis finds it laughable, never feeling a stronger sense of hierarchy and less of an open space in any other work place than here, but he straightens his charcoal cashmere sweater and tucks the front into his suede black trousers that cling to his thighs like second skin.’

_(Louis' look:[full](https://41.media.tumblr.com/320bbb517ba6030a22b70c26c850b56b/tumblr_nqui3tHofg1qdsqp6o1_540.jpg)) (Louis' look: [coat](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f4b02c2570fab3e69c522f305f0a65b9/tumblr_nuywzf2UFa1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘He opts for white trousers with a black bird print on the inseam and a timeless black Givenchy shirt. He picks a Berlutti charchoal cashmere coat and a beige scarf over it, and on his feet are McQueen creepers with a thick sole and a studded tip, paired with a classic Thom Browne over-the-shoulder bag in caviar leather.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt ](http://cache.mrporter.com/images/products/563797/563797_mrp_in_l.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/32eebe991a38ffe048a839e901a2624f/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o6_400.jpg)/ [coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/38889e231af46bd78d94b5fa7ac03726/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [scarf ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/810d8a19e6dc9739dd51d08777f419da/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o5_500.jpg)/ [bag ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/5c7d5817be589472ba673f34491443b4/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o4_500.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/5708ecde84cdd480ca9a55236499f2e9/tumblr_nuyx9teuw21tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 8**

‘He feels cold even though he’s wearing a thick cream sweater and wool trousers from a young designer Zayn’s been obsessed with, Ami Alexandre Matiussi. He tucked up the front of the sweater so it’s not as bulky, the green leather belt pulled through the belt loops around his waist. He’s wearing the storm-blue shearling bomber jacket unzipped, and he’s got Saint Laurent combat boots in black on his feet. Louis loves the luxurious feel of them as much as he loves the lace-up design.’

_(Louis' look:[whole look ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/97ecdf864d49420573bd21ddfa20754e/tumblr_nvbuofWikY1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [jacket ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/3be1536018f3b344bff545777a89abe0/tumblr_nvbuofWikY1tawb72o2_500.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/66ca99276c466c3cb174befe6ed4ffa0/tumblr_nvbuofWikY1tawb72o3_500.jpg))_

‘Zayn is standing on the steps in front of One WTC, looking effortlessly cool and very, very expensive, wrapped up in a black leather Balmain coat with a fur neckline. The sleeves are adorned in gold and red stripes and on his right upper arm there’s a gold embroidered emblem; dragons in action. As if that wasn’t ridiculous enough, he’s got a simple black cashmere scarf from Acne wrapped tightly around his neck so it fits where the V neckline from the coat should bare the skin, and he’s got simple black straight leg trousers on.’

_(Zayn's look:[coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/9858a878cf8917df5a41f2a0db053262/tumblr_nvbufzZBNZ1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/308194fe93b6a967e138b251705dfc49/tumblr_nvbufzZBNZ1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He’s got on the cream roll neck from Haider Ackermann he finally got a chance to wear, and his Opening Ceremony trousers are just the right shade of black.  The black and white Umit Benan coat on top is his favourite purchase this fall.’

_(Louis' look:[roll neck](https://40.media.tumblr.com/0b8623559ad6cbcf7618c9cc1cbfdb57/tumblr_nvbu96tjuF1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/63bf5d9e6430853a85bed3ea33d574cd/tumblr_nvbu96tjuF1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/775fd20ec891acff6d5f33ff62e63a9c/tumblr_nvbucl30Bc1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/554a0569c2f03908b893b55d7924ac5b/tumblr_nvbu96tjuF1tawb72o4_540.jpg))_

‘They head off to the Alexander Wang underground party that night, and he changes into a black and white striped sweater from Saint Laurent and a Haider Ackermann velvet deep green blazer over distressed grey jeans and Saint Laurent star-studded black leather lace up shoes. That’s the most underground he can go, and he knows he looks too posh but the blazer somehow reminds him of Harry and that time Harry went for a full runway Ackermann look so he indulges himself, knowing he looks good anyway.’

_(Louis' outfit:[sweater and jeans](https://40.media.tumblr.com/84088aa1e3ba23e26b8fdbee35975b1a/tumblr_nvbtxojauA1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [blazer ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/1add008adc54f5b2b2672adac6b01339/tumblr_nvbtxojauA1tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [shoes](https://41.media.tumblr.com/89fc75d554ea1d46e87b3ddde2784b84/tumblr_nvbtxojauA1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He’s got a simple black fitted shirt on with white paint splattered over it in tiny dots, so delicate and exquisite he knew he had to have it the first time he saw it. He’s in Maison Margiela dress pants in light grey that show off his ankles and he’s wearing Vivienne Westwood two-tone brogues. His hair is in a quiff and he looks so good he doesn’t feel a day over twenty five, people stopping by to wish him a happy birthday every minute or so, all of his friends present and mingling, and Zayn by his side, having the time of his life.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt](https://41.media.tumblr.com/f1b7f10d837c91b31a71a31adbd5e331/tumblr_nvbto0cV2w1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/8a963be59f4ec77af384ed793240e2ea/tumblr_nvbto0cV2w1tawb72o1_500.jpg)/ [shoes](https://40.media.tumblr.com/4f1a7a41990d52279bba07bc37b7426e/tumblr_nvbto0cV2w1tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

** CHAPTER 9 **

‘The gold of his leather jacket is almost sparkling under the strong winter sun and he looks incredibly skinny with the jacket zipped all the way up his chest. He’s wearing uncommonly tight trousers with zippers under the knees and black leather boots that reach high up his calves. There’s a white marble-print sweatshirt showing underneath and he’s got a Saint Laurent black duffle bag slung over his shoulder.’

_(Zayn's look:[sweater ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/c31c2b583e1ab41b8d0e4a2fad390f8e/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o4_540.jpg)/ [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/00d3c0eb1fb0a58dfafe9fe5e00059fa/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [jacket ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ec8e5d2fa16bb1d9916970b1abf451d2/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/54243087d1107bc0744ff5e21b011be1/tumblr_nvqqq8uOkz1tawb72o3_540.jpg))_

‘He’s wearing a thick Alexander McQueen coat woven in a gray and black abstract pattern and his cognac shirt and Nightingale shirt match. He’s in jeans, and that’s only because long flights and wool trousers really don’t go well together and also because that was the only warm outfit he had with him, for the first time in years wearing something twice, once for the flight to Thailand, and now again.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/8e585bc561fc525213454866f2f996ae/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o2_540.jpg)/ [jeans ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/fe8714d8d48eaa0024f7ee627baa5688/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o3_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/7aab425c388f8eaac138f70615a116bc/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o5_540.jpg)/ [bag](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d263e248ac3a6df0ea2f74d866ebea17/tumblr_nvqqv1NSS91tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘He’s a vision, and Louis turns his head to notice a few of the men in their circle eye the two of them with interest and slight confusion, not completely sure what to think of their relationship. Zayn’s blazer is tight on him, and so are his Valentino yellow-print ombre trousers, and he’s a catch, Louis knows it.’

_(Zayn's look:[blazer ](https://36.media.tumblr.com/69c48d1edd8aac80d3cce8e8ca45fc5a/tumblr_nvqr73njH51tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [trousers](https://41.media.tumblr.com/4e7f3782772436d5d1b4040e3c11e649/tumblr_nvqr73njH51tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He’s keeping the alcohol flow steady, not really looking forward to making an ass of himself in front of so many people he knows. He’s still in his burgundy velvet jacket from McQueen and the matching flower-print trousers, and he notices a few men he’s never seen before turn their heads as he walks through the spacious living room.’

_(Louis' look:[suit](https://40.media.tumblr.com/7143ff82dfbf437d4a5a206e3fef72b5/tumblr_nvqr8tfZhh1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘He puts on the long electric green coat over his grey Balenciaga suit that makes him feel like he’s in the Matrix and strolls over to Zayn’s office.’

_(Louis' look:[suit](https://41.media.tumblr.com/90074cf385c6882e3047c6f05c0ef2f5/tumblr_nvqrzwPGct1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat](https://40.media.tumblr.com/bd39eaf1325e1c8b05bcfdfab089bc0c/tumblr_nvqrzwPGct1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘He drops his glasses and walks over to the hanger to take his coat, today Etro’s baroque gold print on a rich caramel-colored velvet.’

_(Zayn's look:[coat](https://36.media.tumblr.com/9c0f1fe14cd3d9efd8ae93212a6b9ba6/tumblr_nvqs11O6so1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘He’s in a grey Lanvin animal print shirt with a light beige jacket over it and after much deliberation, he chose Julius’ tight wool trousers that look almost like leggings on him, with beautiful knit panels on the inner thigh. He stops by the closet to pick out a coat and he ends up taking the most beautiful maroon double-breasted coat from Marni that features a huge flower-shaped collar and goes all the way past his knees. Someone wrapped a grey tube scarf around the hanger of the coat when putting the look together and he takes the scarf too when he remembers how cold it is outside.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt and jacket](https://40.media.tumblr.com/b5200aeb5f4b75291ac88bc664297521/tumblr_nvqs66XlzX1tawb72o2_540.jpg) / [trousers ](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f399cf7e8096d17bfc6f36e6a2520b9a/tumblr_nvqs66XlzX1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [coat ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/8cd758b4125d7ec56a46318ed9107da9/tumblr_nvqs9aC77t1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [scarf](https://41.media.tumblr.com/fd8e2afcfe413e9270e87310990f619f/tumblr_nvqs6vAmx91tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

‘Harry meets him dressed in a leopard print cropped jacket from Burberry that Louis is quite sure was featured in the women’s collection and he’s got high-waisted trousers on with mid-calf patent leather boots in black on his feet.’

_(Harry's look:[ jacket and trousers ](https://41.media.tumblr.com/527b64967acc1784d9035b778cb3d90b/tumblr_nvqsbnSKhh1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [boots](https://40.media.tumblr.com/d3adcb18372207b040c05342d23f805e/tumblr_nvqsbnSKhh1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

**CHAPTER 10**

‘His shoes slip on the marble stones as he walks and he cackles to himself. That’s what he gets for wearing sandals. He adjusts his white Etro sweater, pushing the sleeves up to his elbows. It’s big on him and his shoulders are bare, and the loose ribbed knit leaves plenty to the imagination, his golden skin showing underneath. He’s completely in white, as you do while on a fabulous Croatian vacation.’

_(Louis' look:[sweater and shorts](https://41.media.tumblr.com/bb188428eedd1a1377ebec5f40b27050/tumblr_nvqtghHVzu1tawb72o1_540.jpg) / [sandals](https://36.media.tumblr.com/a9a147304d48263909666ae93b1fe4f4/tumblr_nvqtghHVzu1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘Harry smiles as soon as he catches sight of him, the dimples prominent on his cheek. He’s in a light silk navy shirt and matching shorts, and there’s a typical Marc Jacobs floral print over them. Louis wants to kiss him so bad.’

_(Harry's look:[full](https://36.media.tumblr.com/606693d1e46da53f613f8a5cc6c3f827/tumblr_nvqtinmr6t1tawb72o1_540.jpg) \- without the jacket)_

‘In the end, he digs through his archive of garments that were too good to let go after just one season and that are on their way to vintage, and finds a beautiful double breasted Chanel blazer that makes his waist looks obscenely good and pairs it with a simple Marc Jacobs leopard print shirt in grey and black trousers. When he looks at himself in the mirror he knows he’s found the one, and even Zayn stops being bothered with social media to whistle, or at least try to whistle.’

_(Louis' look:[shirt](https://40.media.tumblr.com/ab51efd2d7536565882f9ce7d391b136/tumblr_nvqtoaVO0S1tawb72o1_540.jpg)/ [blazer](https://41.media.tumblr.com/e12b5cadf1fc88f7548c6f72f2a18a71/tumblr_nvqtoaVO0S1tawb72o2_540.jpg))_

‘When he meets Harry, he’s changed from the Lanvin trousers he picked that morning after Louis woke him with a blowjob and they took a run together. He’s in a full runway look, the white Alexander McQueen suit looking perfect on him, his shoulders wide and his torso a perfect V-line down to his impossibly long legs.’

_(Harry's look:[suit](https://40.media.tumblr.com/301df73394c378ca1ec90e100c8701ea/tumblr_nvqtr8wYx71tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

Wedding suits

_(Harry's look:[suit](https://41.media.tumblr.com/12582df851d78431403a039b7f12b685/tumblr_nvqtukGXPo1tawb72o1_540.jpg))_

_(Louis' look:[suit](https://40.media.tumblr.com/3e47671a73d730f57e53dd25ccce205f/tumblr_inline_nvkb2cNCa91sf1zml_540.jpg))_

‘Everyone gets ushered out of the room by Zayn who’s looks breathtaking in a white Givenchy suit, and it’s only a few kisses and promises later that he’s back to take them to the walls.’

_(Zayn's look:[suit](http://www.oystermag.com/sites/default/files/images/givenchy_001_1366.450x675.jpg))_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [otpwhatever](http://otpwhatever.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you wanna stop by and talk Dior.


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